Scars We Gave
by HiILikeDragonsArchive
Summary: Sacrifice AU. She hates him for everything he was and everything he's become. A traitor. Apathetic. A vengeful spirit devouring the cliffs of Berk. In his volcanic dragon nest, it's hard to tell which Hiccup she hates most- the boy who left his village to die, or the man who stole her from it.
1. Astrid I

**Sacrifice AU. Written 8/19/2014.**

 **I.**

Her mother cries before she even finishes lacing the dress. It's a pathetic sound, pitiful in its little sniffles and gasps. Astrid resists making a vicious dig and stares straight ahead. It might be the last time she's with her mom, and angry as she is, she doesn't want to leave her with a comment like the one on the tip of her tongue.

Her father's voice rumbles outside the door, making her trembling mother jump. "They're calling for her," he informs them lowly. "Is she ready?"

Astrid ignores the stifled sob at her shoulder and says, "Yeah." She pulls away and touches a hand to her back to ensure the dress is tied. Then she brushes away a stray curl that's fallen loose from her bridal crown before she remembers she doesn't care how she looks. She scowls. Without offering any comfort to her mother, she opens the door and ignores her father's outstretched hand.

Berk is already in flames, she realizes when she steps outside. In the distance, someone screams. The noise is followed by a deafening crash. She wants her axe, but it's been confiscated. Left behind. Not for the first time, she thinks about running. But the island is small and she has nowhere to run.

Her parents follow at her heels as she stalks to the cliff-side. Most of the village is already gathered there, some fending away dragons but most of them watching for her. She gives them her fiercest sneer. In the crowd, she makes out some familiar faces, but none of them step forward to stop her. So she washes her hands of them. Her gaze fixes on Stoick the Vast standing in the center of her people, and she makes her way to him.

His gaze is solemn. She stops before him and glowers. The breeze rustles the thin fabric of her long white gown, whipping the skirt around her legs and cutting beneath the bodice.

"Astrid," he greets her quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Before the final word is even past his lips, she's swinging. Her fist arcs out, aiming upwards to make up for the severe height difference. But before her knuckles can connect with his jaw, Spitelout Jorgenson is tearing her back and wrenching her arms behind her. Her mother screeches and someone booms for rope to be brought. She doesn't rip her gaze away from Stoick.

He only watches as her wrists are bound. Bitterly, she wonders what the purpose of scrubbing her down and rubbing fragrant oils into her skin was if they were only going to wrap her in coarse, scratchy ropes. That'll ruin their goal of presenting a flawless offering. She can see the regret in her chief's eyes, the apology. He'd been a cold, quiet sort of man since his son was killed, but all her pity vaporized the minute she'd been chosen.

Since she can't hit him, she spits at his feet.

Spitelout yanks her away from the chief by her elbow and pulls her to the throne-like chair that's been set in front of a large bonfire. The heat of it stings her cheeks as she's shoved into the seat, and her captor secures her in place.

Astrid sneers up at him. "You don't have to like this so much," she hisses under her breath.

His eyes snap to hers, and he pulls one of the ropes tight enough to make her flinch. "A devil husband for a devil wife," he whispers back. His final knot will leave a bruise on her upper arm.

The corner of her mouth tilts upwards as he strides away and out of her sight. She knows the humiliation she caused him in refusing Snotlout's hand, and for a brief moment she almost wishes that the dragon master will let his beasts raze the entire island.

 _I'd rather die for my village than marry you for my safety._

That's what she'd told him. And Fishlegs and Tuffnut, when they'd offered. And since she was left as the last maiden on Berk, the elders came and told her parents. Astrid would be offered to the dragon master. Her life would be traded for peace.

Her eyes scan the black sky for him. She hasn't heard any cries of, "Night Fury!" or the high pitched whir of its wings. But that's how he comes— one moment the sky is empty, and the next, he's there. He cuts through the air in a blur. They never know if he comes to protect the dragons or send them home. He's done both. All they know is he comes dressed in black and wields a flaming sword. And the beasts heed his commands.

They've tried capturing him. He evades their weapons and their nets with a terrifying speed and grace. They've tried speaking to him. He never makes a single sound. When they made their offerings of food, he let the dragons take it and disappeared. A week later, they were back. The elders suggested gold, but the dragon master tilted his head at the chest of precious metals before shaking his head and taking off on his Night Fury. He didn't want any material good they offered.

Nobody's sure who brought it up first. But a virgin sacrifice was suggested.

Astrid tests the strength of her bonds, mostly out of curiosity. They creak and rub into her skin but do not give.

The attention is suddenly drawn from her as a Nightmare brawls past the crowd and snarls at the Vikings. She's studied the dragons' strategies for years— the Nightmares, along with the Zipplebacks, are the distractions. They keep the warriors busy fighting while the Gronkles and Nadders seek out the livestock. So she knows that this isn't a dragon after food. This one is here to fight and kill.

She watches with a frown as Snotlout steps up to the task. Nightmares draw his fascination at every raid, and though he's covered from head to toe in burns, he insists on engaging them until he takes one down. He goes straight for its snapping jaws with his hammer, just barely clipping the dragon's teeth. It bellows and explodes into flames, but the Viking doesn't try and escape. He jumps aside and makes another swing. This time the Nightmare catches the weapon in its mouth and tears it from Snotlout's grasp. The hammer is thrown aside, and the young man falls back to the ground.

Other Vikings leap to the scene, and even Astrid squirms against the ropes in an instinctual urge to protect. Her hands fist in the skirt of her mockery of a wedding dress. While they attempt to fight off the Nightmare, she's forced to sit and wait. For what, she's not sure.

After the Nightmare has fought off almost every challenger, the chief passes her chair and takes up his battle axe. She narrows her gaze at the line of his broad shoulders as he stands face to face with the creature. It gives him a hostile shriek, and for a moment she can feel its rage boiling in her chest. For the first time in her life, she finds herself identifying with a dragon.

The dance between Stoick the Vast and the Monstrous Nightmare is much bloodier. The chief's bicep only barely escapes the gnash of dagger-like teeth. Dark rivulets bead down his arm. The beast suffers a deep slice at the neck from his weapon. They wrestle and trade blow for blow until Stoick runs it clean of its fire. Then he advances for the killing strike.

And that's when the whistle of a plasma blast sings. The scene explodes with light, and Astrid cringes away from the splatter of dust and rubble. When it clears, firelight illuminates the living shadow landing on the cliff with a hiss. Silence goes over the previously roaring crowd.

The Nightmare shakes off the blast, looking dazed. Stoick the Vast rises easily to his feet and uses the back of his forearm to wipe the sweat from his face. Between them, the dragon master slips from the Night Fury's back.

Astrid sucks in her breath at the sight of him.

The dragon master isn't particularly frightening-looking, or necessarily intimidating in physique. His tall, slender frame is always wrapped in a costume fashioned from black leather and hard scales of the same color. He wears a dark helmet with curling horns to disguise his face. His sword of fire, unlit and sheathed at his thigh, isn't necessarily a fighting weapon. But the mystery of him terrifies. He holds a power unlike anything any of the villagers have ever known. He carries it in the smooth way he stalks between the chief and the dragon.

"We wondered if yeh'd show," the Viking says loud enough for Astrid to hear.

The dragon master doesn't reply. He stares at Stoick for a long time while his Night Fury keeps his teeth bared at the Nightmare. It protects his back, as it always does. Then he switches— he turns and steps up to the dragon, and the Night Fury turns his threatening snarl on Stoick.

Astrid watches and pulls at her bonds as he reaches a gloved hand for the Nightmare. The vicious creature presses its nose into the master's palm, and then gives him a low bow. When he waves the hand, the dragon crouches before spreading his wings and taking to the sky.

Her heart hammers in her chest. Stoick's eyes slide to her. For a minute she forgets that she is infuriated with him, and she attempts one last pleading glance in his direction. Then he turns back to the dragon master. They're separated by several yards. Her chair sits close enough to the edge that she hears him when he speaks.

"The land of Berk has an offer for yeh," Stoick tells the man in black armor. He swallows, and then looks beyond her.

She's confused by his nod, but then Gobber appears at her side with a knife. The ropes holding her to the chair are cut, and she's pulled to her feet. The blond-haired blacksmith looks at her with the most sincere expression of guilt she's yet to see. She accepts it, since her fury is melting into fear, and she doesn't begrudge the hand that tugs her forward.

Stoick gestures towards her. "If wealth won't appease yeh… perhaps this will."

Astrid's gaze flicks from Stoick's pained face to the empty expression of the dragon master's mask. It's steady and seemingly unseeing, and she can't look away. Gobber presses her to her trembling knees halfway between Stoick and the man. Though she growls a little and shrugs off his hands with a renewed sense of hate, she stays where he's placed her.

The dragon master's head slowly tips to the side. He only looks at her, in her white gown and pearl encrusted bridal crown. And then, as if realizing their meaning, he straightens suddenly.

The movement is sharp enough to grab the attention of the Night Fury. It makes a warbling noise of warning before the phantom-like figure silences it with a twitch of his fingers.

The tension is thick as he watches Stoick. His hands clench and unclench, and in the distance, the clamor of cracking wood and shouting men still sounds. Slowly, he begins to shake his head, and an overwhelming wave of relief crashes over Astrid. That is, until the dragon master closes in on her and jerks her to her feet. She realizes with crushing heartbreak that his gesture was one of disbelief, not refusal.

He hardly seems to pay her attention, shoving her towards the Night Fury without even a backwards glance. Her balance thrown off by her bound wrists, she stumbles, but regains her footing after a beat. She hears her mother scream her name. Whispers echo from every direction. But she's distracted by something else— the piercing gaze of the dragon the color of night. It's a vivid green, intertwined with strands of gold, and so _seeing_ that she forces herself to glance away.

When she looks back to the dragon master, he's surging towards the chief. His hand goes to his thigh to free the sword of fire they've come to recognize. It snaps to life in his grip, and he comes inches from Stoick before stopping and holding the flickering blade at his throat. Flames lick just centimeters from the chief's beard.

Everything goes quiet. Astrid's breath scrapes in and out of her lungs, and pinpricks of pain begin in her strained shoulders. The man in black has never taken so hostile a stance before. She's only seen him fight in the defense of his dragons. For a stunned heartbeat, she wonders why his aggression has been agitated.

Then he lowers the sword. He stares at Stoick the Vast for another long moment before turning on his heel and striding towards Astrid. Despite the mask, she _knows_ his eyes are bearing into her. She resists shivering, frozen in place. But then he's reaching for her and her instincts kick in.

"No!" she shouts, squirming away from his touch. She's trapped between him and the Night Fury, though, and so he's quickly able to grab her by the arm. "Don't _touch_ me!"

When she resists, his hand tightens, and he yanks her to his chest so he can secure his arm around her waist. The gathered villagers are making panicked noises as they watch one of their own be dragged away. Astrid tries to recall all of her training, to use her knees and feet to strike at him, but he only gives her a shake to knock off her balance. Before she can stop him, he's forcing her into a dark black saddle— she's never noticed that before. And then he climbs behind her. His thighs frame her, and she's held hard against his chest.

She steals one last glance at the crowd, her eyes desperately searching for her parents. Her pulse races, her breath catching on awful near-sobs. Swallowing the hard stone in her throat, she tries to struggle against her captor, but he doesn't loosen his hold around her waist. He gives the Night Fury a sharp whistle.

And then with a rough gust of air, they're flying. Astrid shrieks and closes her eyes. The wind smacks against her face and forces its way into her nostrils and lungs. She can't breathe. The dragon lurches beneath them as they gain altitude, and her stomach turns violently. For the moment, she's so absolutely terrified that she can't even care about the heat of him at her back, the way he leans into her. She can only talk herself through the fear and try not to let the tears pricking her eyelashes fall.

She's disoriented. Too afraid to open her eyes, she gasps for a breath that doesn't strangle her and twists her wrists between her ropes. They cut and rub the skin raw, but she's desperate for something to hold onto. So desperate that she finds the fabric of the stranger's shirt and knots her fingers there.

"Be still," he tells her in a sharp voice, and she's so stunned that she does so. "You're bugging Toothless."

"Tooth— Toothless?" she stutters.

Confusion is as strong as her awe. In all his visits to Berk, the dragon master has never spoken once. It's part of what makes him so strange, so mysterious— he manages to communicate to humans and dragons solely through gestures and incoherent clicking. They'd become convinced he didn't know any Norse, but his short command changes everything. His voice is dark with barely concealed irritation, but its interesting tenor somehow rings as vaguely familiar in the back of her mind. Somehow, that makes her even more afraid.

Astrid stops struggling, but the flying doesn't become any easier. The one time she forces her eyes open during their journey, she looks down to see nothing but landscape far, far below them. She gives a short scream and then screws her eyes shut again. The rush of adrenaline piercing her system is almost painful.

She's not sure where he's taking her, or what he'll do with her once they've arrived. But as the minutes stretch into hours, her hips and legs begin to ache, and all the feeling in her arms turns into cold numbness. After what seems like an eternity, she starts to wonder if they'll ever land. She wants to ask him to, wants to tell him she needs to be on solid ground again. But she won't ask anything of her kidnapper. In fact, she'll kill him as soon as she has means to.

Just when she's convinced herself that she'll lose her arms to lack of circulation, she feels them diving. It's a sharp descent, and it pulls a whimper from her throat, but his arm doesn't budge around her. Then they're leveling out. They glide for a few more moments before she feels the ground rise up to meet them. Its steadiness makes her nauseous, after being in motion for so long.

Behind her, the dragon master snakes free of her. She blinks her eyes open, and she watches him dismount. From what she can tell, they're in a cave of some sort, but the dark is so thick, she can barely make out his silhouette. She can hear dragons, though. She can smell their scales and their hot breath.

Astrid flinches when a hand closes around her dead arm, and it takes her sleeping nerves a moment to realize that he's removed his gloves. Then there's a cold flash of a blade. She twitches nervously. But with a few quick sawing motions, her ropes snap loose. The explosion of pain in her shoulders as her arms fall free makes her cry out, and she can't even move them to ease the hot fire.

The dragon rider makes a clicking noise. Beneath her, the Night Fury barks a ball of plasma to life. It illuminates the cave in white light, then crackles into golden flames in the center of the cavern. Sure enough, the gleam of scales glimmer in the distance, but the dragons don't move. There must be dozens of them in the dark, sleeping contently.

She cuts her gaze back to the real threat, the human she'd just been given over to. "If you touch me," she whispers in a lethal warning, "I'll slit your throat in your sleep."

"I'm not going to touch you, Astrid." His voice sounds strangely exasperated. She straightens at her name, her eyes widening. The dragon master lifts his hands to his horns, and he dips his head to remove his helmet. "Now—"

Her gasp is sharp when Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III tosses the mask aside and fixes her with a flickering green gaze.

"Do you want to explain why my father just tried to _sacrifice_ you?"


	2. Astrid II

**II.**

If he didn't call Stoick the Vast his father, Astrid would never recognize Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. That boy from her childhood had been eaten by some sort of dragon. The chief had mourned him so fiercely that Berk was thrown into chaos for several months. He'd sworn he would destroy every dragon in Midgard, setting sail on numerous hunts instead of fulfilling many of his duties. He became vicious, dark, and eternally sad.

That boy was skinny. Small. Obnoxious and always in the way. Annoyingly good at dragon training, for all the good it did him. Hiccup is dead.

And yet, he's looking at her with a fire that is very much alive.

The dragon master- not Hiccup, it can't be Hiccup- clenches his jaw and crosses his arms over his chest. There's a strange, barely restrained contempt in his expression that she can't recall ever seeing from the boy she used to know. "Well?" he asks, and she suddenly remembers that he's spoken to her.

"Hiccup?" she hisses, her arms tingling painfully as the blood rushes back into her hands and fingers. "You can't be alive."

His brows rise, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in a ghost of a sardonic grin. "There I go again. Always messing up, right?"

Beneath her, the dragon makes a deep grumbling noise. Then it shakes, dislodging her from the saddle and sending her sprawling on the stone floor. Astrid's head cracks against the ground, and she cries out. When she sits up and lifts a still-throbbing hand to her skull, she realizes her bridal crown has fallen aside.

She wants to glare, but the bafflement is too strong. "I saw your stuff in the cove," she informs him. "Scales in the grass. Your bloodstains on the rocks."

"Toothless'," he explains tersely. The Night Fury strides around him once, earning a pat, and then wanders off to stretch out by the fire. "Side effect of having your tail ripped in half."

"Toothless?" she breathes. It's the second time he's said that word.

The dragon master motions at the black beast stretching out his talons like a cat's paws. "The first dragon whose blood I spilled. And the last."

She tears her gaze down his body. It's strange that she's watched it so often for the past two years without knowing who it belonged to. He's tall. Lean. Not exactly broad, but not nearly the bony twerp he used to be. His face has narrowed, and a dusting of facial hair darkens his jaw. All the childhood has faded away and left his cheekbones sharp, the planes of his face hard and masculine. The green eyes set in his features should be the closest to what she remembers. Should be. But they're not.

They're much colder.

When she doesn't immediately jump to her next questions- how he left Berk, and why he came back- he pushes away from the cavern wall and starts towards the fire. In the far back, just barely illuminated by the yellow glow, she can almost make out a bed of furs. Hiccup strolls over to it and extracts something from the pile. A flask.

"So, first they're trying to give me presents. Now they want to see me happy and settled with a nice girl?" Uncapping his drink, he takes a heavy swig. "Sweet of them."

Astrid pushes herself to her feet, wishing she had the nerve to walk straight past his Night Fury and put an end to his sarcastic ice. But she's intimidated by his army of sleeping dragons. "Take me back," she growls, stepping forward until Toothless pins her in a warning gaze.

Hiccup snorts, stretching out on the bed and bringing the flask to his mouth again. The shadows make him look even more like a stranger. "Come on, Astrid. On our wedding night?"

"You know why they did this and you took me anyways!" She can't help but raising her voice. "Take me back!"

"Let me get this straight," he laughs, leaning forward and resting his elbow on his knee. "Your village put you in a wedding dress. Tied you up. Gave you up to a stranger they knew would very likely rape or kill you. And you're dying to go back to them?"

"Your village too," she snarls.

His expression, which has been mostly casual since he removed his helmet, turns dark. He bares his teeth in a movement that is scarily dragon-like. "I'm not one of them," he denies with a shocking frostiness.

"Obviously not." Astrid glares. She feels ridiculous in her pretty white dress, dressed up like a girl in a costume. "You're a traitor."

Hiccup nods, the daggers in his eyes shifting away from her face. "I'd rather be a traitor than a killer."

"You'd rather turn your back on your village," she bites, giving the Night Fury a wide berth as she makes her way around the fire to approach him. "Letting people die, starve- children growing up in homes burned down by dragons every week. And you live with the same beasts that attack your people in cold blood."

He stands and meets her gaze. "You're exactly the same. Trying so hard to be Berk's champion when you don't know the first thing about what you're fighting."

"And you're still the weak, selfish boy who could never pick a side." Her accusation is a whisper sharper than the edge of a knife. "I'd rather have been taken by the demon everyone thinks you are than a treasonous dragon-sympathizer."

Astrid can see the way her words snap his spine straight like the crack of a whip. A strange shadow overtakes his features, and then he takes a long draw from the flask in his hand before tossing it to the floor. It clatters loudly, making a couple of the dragons curled in the dark growl and shift. Hiccup's hands go to his bizarre armor, snatching free the clasps and buckles with claw-like fingers. He sheds the dark leather first, and then the black shirt beneath.

"What are you doing?" She takes a step backwards, her eyes flickering over his bare torso. Scars litter the planes of his chest and stomach. Strange, spidery lines explode from his shoulder and race down his body. Silvery gashes are slashed in the slope of his neck. And from his hip, tattooed dragon scales crawl up his side. She's not sure why, but her heart begins to pound.

"Giving you what you want." His hand goes to his belt, yanks it undone. Faster than she can block, he razes the space between them and slams her back against the cave wall.

Alarm screams through her as Hiccup's mouth comes down hard and cruel against hers. She tries to push him away, to fight him off, but he grips her forearms bruisingly and secures them by her face. The heat of him bleeds through her dress, searing her skin in a way she's sure will leave ashes. He shoves his hips against her, and the buckle of his belt digs into her stomach. A noise not unlike a terrified whimper slips from her lips and into his. But a black kind of excitement is unraveling too.

"Hiccup, stop!" she pleads when she finally tears her face away. She tastes blood. She's not sure what horrifies her most- his unforgiving hands or the fluttering of her heart that isn't completely fear. His mouth moves to her neck, biting and licking at her throat. "Please don't."

"You'd rather have this," he hisses, and then he's tugging at her skirts. "You want this kind of kidnapper, don't you?"

She feels his hand on her thigh. Her whimper turns into a shriek. "No! Hiccup, please stop!"

And just like that, he does. Her attacker all but throws her hands back to her sides, pushing away from the wall and wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. But he doesn't stop glowering. As their labored breaths echo off the stone in watery waves, she realizes that the Night Fury has snapped to attention. Other dragons, too, have opened their eyes to stare with agitated apprehension.

"I could be exactly what they think I am," Hiccup says quietly. "And if I were half as selfish as you think I am I wouldn't have stopped." He reaches for his shirt on the bed and yanks it back over his head. "So be thankful I'm just a treasonous dragon-sympathizer."

Astrid's fingers grip the slick wall at her back like it's the only thing keeping her standing. Her knees feel like they might give out beneath her. Her tongue slips out to feel where his teeth cut her bottom lip.

Finally- finally- he tears his gaze away from her. "Come on, Toothless," he mutters under his breath, snatching his armor from the ground and striding away from the light of the fire. "Let's let my wife get used to her new bed."

The dragon tilts his head at her, evaluating her terrified expression with blinking curiosity. And then he turns and disappears after his rider.


	3. Astrid III

**III.**

She's warm when she stirs to life, which is strange, because she'd shivered and shuddered trying to fall asleep. Her thin mockery of a wedding gown did little to block out the cold, especially as it bled through a hard cave floor. She scooted as far away from the shadows of the sleeping dragons as possible, pressing her back to the stone wall and curling into a ball. She'll freeze on the floor before she'll lie in the pile of furs Hiccup called a bed. And then she waited for the fear to pass, for the fury to settle. She laid with her teeth chattering and her head hurting until she finally slipped into something like a nightmare.

But now she's warm. Her body aches all over from sleeping on the ground, and there's dust and tiny rocks pressed into her skin, but she's warm. When Astrid opens her eyes, she finds herself beneath a thick, soft fur. A faint strand of gratefulness follows her barrage of confusion, but it doesn't last long.

She realizes the warmth isn't coming from the fur. It's coming from the Night Fury wrapped around her.

She yelps, bolting up and scooting back until her back is flush against the stone wall. The dragon— Toothless— doesn't stir, heavy breaths moving in and out of his large chest with metallic whirs. His ears and jawfins twitch. Astrid puts her hand over her heart and feels it pound against her palm.

Her eyes scan over the cavern, which she can finally see by the weak sunshine streaming in its mouth several yards ahead. It's larger than it felt the night before, extending far back into a tunnel where the dragons had been sleeping. Except for one or two, though, the beasts have mostly cleared out. The roof of the strange abode is tall, and it stretches over another opening higher up. This one is likely too small for anything other than a Terror to fit through, but it provides extra light and a safe escape for smoke.

She glances towards the bed near the back, finding Hiccup sprawled facedown in the furs. His face is turned away from her, his fingers curled around the flask she'd seen last night. Rays of sun stretch like fingers from the tiny opening above and stretch across his bare back. His pants are slung low enough that she can make out the faint dimples at the base of his spine. Astrid feels her face going warm from embarrassment and fury.

Slowly, as not to wake the sleeping dragon curled like a cat around its kittens, she pushes herself to her feet. Her hands scrape the walls behind her, searching for purchase, and her gaze goes back and forth between the Night Fury and his rider.

A tight soreness has taken residence in her legs, a consequence of being shoved in a saddle for who knows how long. She hasn't had the opportunity to check yet, but she's sure there's bruises along her arms and wrists. Her shoulders feel like they've been ground down to nothing. Still, the ache in her thighs is the worst, and she tries not to wince as she carefully lifts the hem of her dress and steps over the dragon's tail.

That's when she notices it— the contraption. At first she thinks it's some device Hiccup's invented to keep the beast from turning on him. A muzzle or some kind of high-tech riding crop. But at a closer glance, she notices the way the metal coils around his tail. Then it flares out into what she thought was two tailfins. Instead it's just one. One— and a leather lookalike.

She manages to untangle her feet from the fur and ease away without waking him. Her first— no, only thought— is escape.

First she tiptoes towards the furs, her breath sounding too, too loud in the quiet cavern. Hiccup is sound asleep— she can hear his exhales as well, along with a soft snore. Now that she's closer, she can see that there's something almost covered by the corner of one of his furs. The delicate twist of metal. A gleaming pearl. Her bridal crown. It rests just inches from his face.

She glances aside, surprised and a little shocked. She doesn't want to think about why that's in his bed. But her gaze hasn't found a good place to settle. She realizes she's staring at his bare torso. His shoulders are freckled, leading to a pale back marred by pink burn scars, and his shoulder blades stick out like wings trying to break the skin. Her eyes rove to his hips. There's a dagger strapped to his belt. She could grab it easily and shove it between those half-wings.

Astrid shudders. Steps away from the chief's long lost son. She's killed dragons before— without a second thought. But killing a human being, and one of her own, is something she can't do quite yet.

She thinks about what he said to her last night as she walks quietly towards the mouth of the cave. How Berk gave her up to a dragon master they thought was a demon. If Hiccup had been the evil thing he showed to her last night, would that have made the villagers accomplices in her murder? They would kill her for their safety, so shouldn't she be able to kill him?

She shoves the thought away. Runs her hand along the wall as she squints into the bright light. Sunlight warms her chilled skin as a breeze blows in, and she can't help but fight back a smile. She might be able to get back to Berk after all. She could be gone before Hiccup even woke.

But then her eyes adjust. The sun retreats, and she realizes with a sharp inhale that hoping is too dangerous.

They're high. Hundreds of feet off the ground. And all she can see for miles is blue, glittering ocean.

Astrid turns. Slams her fist into stone to resist a cry of frustration and disappointment. So that exit isn't plausible. She'll have to go deeper into the island. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she fixes the straggling dragons that are blocking the tunnel leading from this open room in her gaze. One is sprawled in a ray of light, sunbathing. The other is closer to Astrid, gnawing distractedly on a large bone.

Nerves rattle in her chest. Her heart starts to beat a little harder as she slowly approaches. The beast doesn't seem to notice her presence, or even care. But she can't tear her eyes away from the sharp teeth crackling along its pale chew toy. She gives it a wide berth as she passes. It hardly glances up.

Twisting, she feels along the wall and watches the dragon over her shoulder. The dark of the tunnel is intimidating, but she has no other choice. Without hesitating, she dips into the blackness.

It's warmer than the previous room. Astrid detects the faint scent of sulfur and smoke— something she thought she'd smelled on Hiccup the night before. It gets stronger the farther she presses into the tunnel. The slippers on her feet are pathetic scraps of fabric, and she wishes she had her good sturdy boots. Stones and pebbles dig uncomfortably into her soles with every step.

She gets lost. She knows she's lost, but she can't make herself care when the only other option is to be left to that dragon rider's mercy. There has to be more than one exit, as tall as the mountain appears to be. So she continues, and soon enough she sees a reddish glow in the distance.

Astrid exhales slowly. Squints into the heat. The closer she gets, the warmer it feels. Sweat starts to bead on her forehead and chest. She feels a few droplets trickle down the back of her legs and between her breasts. And the nearer the glow comes, the more she begins to hear things. Clicking, humming, chattering.

She comes to a stop. She can't even press on to see what lies beyond, in the fiery heart of the island. A long, spined tail rests at the mouth of the tunnel. Her heart pounds.

Astrid spins to try and run back, but her slippers have one more disaster to wreak. She slips on the smooth stone floor, and a startled cry escapes her before she can stop it. Her elbows and knees slam into hard rock. And her breath catches when there's a slithering noise behind her.

She scrambles, trying to sit up. There's no way to tell what kind of dragon this is, but it's no species she can recognize— it's too big, and it's one black silhouette crawling into the tunnel. Astrid whimpers, scooting back against the wall as her hands search the ground for anything she can use for a weapon. If she can distract it, she can get away. She has to.

But as soon as she shifts, it growls. Yellow eyes examine her from a dark face, pupils just a slice through the golden glare. It's monstrous, at least twice as big as the beasts that raid her home. And its sights are set on her.

"Get back!" she shouts at it, her voice sounding weaker than she'd like. Waving her hands at it, she tries to see if it'll spook. "Go away! Get out!"

It responds by rearing. The dragon comes down on its front paws so hard that the ground trembles, and it makes a fearsome noise caught somewhere between a roar and a shriek. Astrid yelps and twists her eyes shut, trying to crawl away from its hot, malodorous breath.

And then she's being gripped by her upper arms. She's yanked up, and an arm wraps around her waist and holds her to a solid warmth. At first she startles, thinking it's another dragon, so she screams and hits him, but then Hiccup gives her an annoyed shake.

"You don't want this one," he says to the dragon, and Astrid goes still against his still-bare chest. Her lips are parted against his collarbone as she attempts to draw weak strands of air into her lungs. "She sucks at scratchies. All claws."

"Get me out of here," she whispers. She wishes it would sound more like the demand she intends it to be. "Get me away from that thing."

Hiccup's other arm stretches out. She feels the warmth of the dragon's breath against her shoulder, and she involuntarily presses tighter against the rider's torso.

Then he drops his hand and pulls her around, tugging her back through the shadows. The flickering features of his face dim as they walk away from the now ominous red glow. When they're fully entrenched in the dark again, he lets her go and grips her wrist in his hand. She hears him sigh, and it sounds terribly inconvenienced.

"I'm too hungover for this."


	4. Astrid IV

**IV.**

Hiccup sleeps more than any person she's ever known. Or maybe it only seems that way because he wakes up when it's near dark and goes out until the first rays of dawn have already spilled across the mouth of his cave. She's not sure where he goes or what he does, only that he leaves hungover and comes back drunk. He hardly pays attention to her presence.

It was an event simply trying to get him to feed her. The first day she'd spent in his cave, after he'd dragged her out of the tunnels and half-shoved her back by her single fur in the corner, he'd gone straight back to bed. She'd seethed and plotted and checked the rockface at the entrance to decide whether scaling was a possibility. After hours of searching, though, she still wasn't any closer to escape. And her stomach was growling. So she walked over to the breathing pile of furs and gave the chief's son a kick to the ribs.

He woke with a grunt, rolling over and squinting up at her. "What? What now?"

"I'm hungry," she told him flatly. Folding her arms over her chest, she scowled. "Even prisoners get food."

He made a noise that was half scoff, half groan as he rubbed his face. "So eat something. I'm not stopping you."

She gave him another kick. It really would've been more effective with her boots. But he got the message– he sat up and gave her a little push away from the bed.

"Point me to the pantry, caveman." Astrid gestured at their bare surroundings. "Or better, the kitchen. I can get knives there."

"See, and you wonder why I hang out with dragons." Hiccup gestured broadly to the trio of dragons resting by the tunnel. In between the other two, the Night Fury lifted his head. "So much less maintenance. At least they can find their own meals."

Her eyes flicked to the ceiling. Of course they found their own meals. In Berk's pastures and pens.

Eventually she was able to drag an answer out of him– next to a near-toppling stack of books was a basket half filled with fresh fish. Hiccup disappeared into the tunnels, dragons following on his heels, and she was left alone in the main room once more.

Three days have passed, and that's the most civilized conversation they've had as of yet. It's dark again, and the basket is empty. She's examined the giant map on the wall, a mural of scraps of parchment somehow pasted together. She's able to find Berk, but if their current location is marked on his hand-drawn creation, she can't locate it. For the sake of entertainment, she even looked through Hiccup's tiny library, but there's little that isn't about dragons, physics, or written in another language. Lifting her brows, she wonders if he actually understands these foreign writings.

She does find a small barrel of something strong-smelling tucked near the bed– the one place she refuses to explore. A small dab with her finger in the name of curiosity makes her wrinkle her nose and gag. It's the kind of stuff opened for weddings and funerals, though there have been more of the latter and fewer of the prior in the past few years. Too strong for her tastes. It reminds her of raucous fights in the Great Hall.

Despair and hate boils in the pit of her stomach, feeling a lot like hunger. Or maybe it is hunger. She's surprised to find she doesn't miss home as much as she expected, but that doesn't make her any less determined to make it back. No matter how many demands she makes, how much she screams and insults him, the disgusting Dragon Master only drags a pillow over his head and ignores her. Every morning she thinks more and more about stealing the knife tucked into his waistband and holding it to his throat.

Astrid's learned that the sound of beating wings precedes him. At first it filled her with a terrified panic, sent her hands skittering along the ground in search of a weapon. But once the dragons fill the cave and tunnels and Hiccup flies in on the monster he affectionately refers to as "Toothless", they pay her little to no attention. The dragons curl up and begin grooming themselves, and their leader staggers to his pile of soft furs.

Tonight, he's home earlier than usual. At the sound of wind and wings, she flinches and sits up, pressing her back to the cave wall. For a moment, it's a chaotic cacophony blurred with color and scales. Folding her arms and trying not to dig her nails into her elbows, Astrid frowns and glances towards the entrance.

"Whew!" Hiccup's laughter is a strange noise, though not a completely unfamiliar one. It's muffled by the sound of his facemask, but he removes it as he comes close enough for her to see. "Thought we were never gonna get home."

Toothless bounds in next to him, clearly excited and playful. There's something clamped in his jaws, and he lifts his chin for an affectionate scratch from his rider.

Hiccup shifts his gaze to her, easy smile tightening into something like a smirk. "Evening, milady. And how is my beautiful wife?"

She hisses, "I'm not your wife, you dragon-loving asshole."

"Oh, my day was great," he replies with a flippant wave of his hand. "Worked up quite an appetite."

She nods towards the corner, where she kicked the empty basket earlier that day. "Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't have time to fix anything."

"Eugh," he shivers. "You're right, that does feel unsettling."

She glares at him as he warms his hands by the fire and kicks off his boots. Her line of sight is suddenly interrupted by a wall of black– and she blinks up with alarm into a pair of bright green eyes.

Toothless slowly bows his head and opens his jaw. Astrid watches with a faintly curled lip as he gently places a rabbit carcass at her feet. Licking his lips, he stares at her. Gives her a little nod as if to say go ahead.

Then there's a clatter, and the knife she's eyed for days is within her reach. Hiccup's tugging his belt open. "I'm going to wash up. I have faith in your butchering skills."

"I could kill you with this," she reminds him as she snatches the knife off the cave floor and points it towards him. He stares indifferently and shrugs out of his shirt, so she adds, "It would be easy for me. It would be enjoyable."

Hiccup cracks another crooked grin. "You can't. For the same reason you haven't already." He tosses his shirt onto his bed and looks her up and down. "Without me, you're never getting off this island."

Astrid tightens her grip on the handle of her knife, but she swallows her rage and watches him step around resting dragons. He's right, damn him. He's right.

"I like my meat rare!" he calls over his shoulder, and she swears that one day she'll shove that very knife in his back.

* * *

"You'd better not look."

"Oh gods, Astrid." She's not sure how she knows the sound of him rolling his eyes, but she does. He's doing it. "As enticing as your skinny, hate-filled body surely must be, you don't have to worry about me spying on your maidenly goods."

"I'm skinny? Are you serious right now?" The room he's brought her to is humid, the tiny underground spring steaming with hot, refreshing water. She would dive in and spend all night there, if it weren't for her infuriating captor lurking in the entry way. "I think you've fallen off your dragon one too many times."

"Haha, funny, Hiccup's scrawny and little. Original. Just take your damn bath."

She can't help but scowl in the dim light. It's only by the torch leaning against the wall that she can see, but she can see well enough to know that once she pulls her dress over her head, he'll only have to turn his head to catch a glimpse of her naked. And she trusts him about as much as she'd trust a Berserker.

Still, a small part of her wonders what good it does her trying to be modest when it only makes her seem shy and petty. He certainly doesn't seem to care. Hiccup rarely wears more than his trousers when he's around– she figured out early that it was because of the volcanic heat at the center of the mountain. Whenever he returns from the dark tunnels she'd gotten herself lost in, he's flushed and dripping with sweat.

But he seems like he could care less that his body's on display for her to see. He doesn't even seem to worry about whether or not she stares at his scars, his tattoos, the muscles in his back and shoulders… With a grudging clench of her jaw, she tells herself that she'll have to adopt that same apathy if she wants to survive.

Astrid steels her nerves, reaching behind her to tug loose the laces of her gown. What was once a pure white has been stained with dust. Swallowing the ball of irritation in her throat, she jerks her arms free from the sleeves and tugs off her dress. It flutters to the floor, and she resists the urge to wrap her arms around herself. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she stares at Hiccup's profile as she slowly unwinds her bindings.

He doesn't turn or glance over, but she thinks he might have gone still. In a last minute decision, she keeps her underwear on and steps into the warm water.

It feels good. Like a balm to her aching, sore muscles. Her bed at home isn't much, but it's much better than sleeping on the floor. She tries to stifle the gasp of relief that threatens to slip free. With the water at her waist, she can kneel and sink into the soothing heat. Her head dips beneath the surface, and for the first time in three days, she allows her expression to match her desperate, screaming heart. She presses her fists against her eyes. She opens her mouth in a silent wail. Only after her chest burns and her head spins does she let her despair dissolve and sit up, gasping for air.

After that, she can breathe easier. She can think clearer. Keeping one eye on Hiccup, she reaches up to unknot the intricate braid her mother did. It's harder now that it's wet, but it gives her hands something to do while she contemplates.

This is still war, Astrid reminds herself. Just because the battlefield has changed, the enemy is still the same. Even if it's taken a new form. Only the goal is different. She has to outsmart her captor and make it home alive. But for now she can't fight with axes and knives. Until she knows more about this island– and until she figures out how to get off of it– she can't kill Hiccup. Especially with his army of dragons hovering so protectively.

So what weapons does she have now?

Since she was a child, she's learned how to turn her body into a weapon. How to use her hands and elbows and feet and knees to cause the most damage or break the most bones. She still has that– at least enough to protect herself.

What good have those done her? They were useless when he pressed her between the wall and his too-hot chest. She can still feel the searing heat of his mouth on hers, the scrape of his hand climbing her thigh. Astrid drops her fingers from her hair to brush across the spot burning on the inside of her knee. Perhaps it's the steam, but her face feels warm. Irritation makes her clench her jaw.

"Why you?" Hiccup suddenly asks.

Her head snaps up to see if he's watching her, but his face is still pointed straight ahead. "What do you mean?"

He folds one leg under the other and seems to look up at the ceiling. It's hard to tell in the dim light. "Why did they give you to the evil Dragon Master? Did they go by age? Was there a vote? Were you the prettiest– or the most annoying?"

She resists a disgusted scoff. "I was the only maiden of age left."

His boot scrapes against the ground as he shifts. "The only–? What about Ruffnut?"

"She married Snot so they wouldn't take her."

"They–" Hiccup pauses, his shoulders tilting towards her. "Did you volunteer, then?" There's so much contempt in his voice, it sounds as if the words taste like acid.

"Did you miss the ropes on my wrists, you idiot?" She smacks the water to send a splatter his way. He leans away from it, even if it comes up several feet short. "You think I would volunteer for something like this?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," he retorts. An angry beat of silence hangs between them, and then he says, "So why not do what Ruffnut did? Marry somebody. Sleep with somebody. What would they have done then?"

"No matter what I chose, it would be against my will." Cupping water in her hands, she rinses her hair once more. "At least I can escape from this."

She watches his tongue probe the inside of his cheek. "Huh. Funny."

Her eyes narrow into a sharp glare. "What's funny?"

Hiccup shrugs. "It's kind of gross to think about, but– I'm inadvertently responsible for my cousin getting laid." Shaking his head, he laughs mirthlessly. "And in a way, I guess he's responsible for me getting laid."

Fury ignites in her chest. She surges to her feet. "I'll throw myself off the side of this mountain before I let you touch me again."

"Thor, would you relax?" At the sound of dripping water, he tosses a towel towards the shore. It lands with a corner falling into the spring. "Like I said, I'm not interested. I know plenty of women a lot sweeter than you who'd be more than willing to satisfy my manly urges."

For a second, as she wades forward and snatches the towel off the ground, she's offended. Not interested? She might have been apathetic as a teenager, but she wasn't blind. She'd noticed the way he watched her when they were younger. And she isn't vain or anything, but she is aware of her own physical attractiveness. Sure, her body's a little thinner than it used to be– a side effect of the constant food shortage on Berk– but her workouts ensure that she keeps curves in significant places.

She's already opening her mouth to give him some biting insult when it hits her– he's trying to get under her skin.

That night when she was first brought here, when he kissed her and threatened her with everything he could have been– he'd pulled away with eyes blazing and chest heaving. His body had been taut with anger, but it couldn't have been just that. Because he'd said, "If I were half as selfish as you think I am, I wouldn't have stopped."

So why lie about wanting her?

Astrid wipes her face dry before wrapping the towel around herself. If Hiccup doesn't plan on touching her again, that's absolutely fine by her. She won't worry about his blazing hands anytime he invades her personal space. But he's made a mistake by trying to lie. Because if he has something to hide, that means it's a weakness worth uncovering.

She laces her hair into a braid and watches his smug expression. Her frustration eases a little. It might be a while before she can escape, but that doesn't have to mean she can't win.

The Dragon Master's not unflappable.


	5. Hiccup V

**V.**

There's a pair of scissors sitting in a cup of little tools behind the bar, and he can't take his eyes off of them. Or– he can, but that inspires a spell of world-tilting dizziness. So he stares at the scissors and doesn't look away.

"Are you married, Fiske?" Hiccup pulls his mug closer with uncooperative fingers and lifts it unsteadily to his mouth.

The barkeep looks up from his paperwork, rubbing tired eyes. "Aye," he grumbles. "And I'd spend plenty more time in bed with her if it weren't for you keepin' me up til dawn."

"Shut up. I keep you in business." He lifts himself off the counter, slouching back in his chair, but he keeps his gaze on the scissors. His mouth tastes terrible, but his tongue feels thick and numb. "Is she pretty, your wife?"

Fisk makes a low whistling noise, but then glances over with a shake of his head. "Ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on."

Hiccup snorts, fingertips clumsily tracing the handle of his drink. "Is she nice?"

"Mean as a cat in heat."

"So why'd you marry her?" Something about the scissors. Something he was supposed to remember.

Fiske taps the end of his pencil against the bar for a minute while he thinks, and then he shrugs. "Cause I sleep all day and drink all night. And in between, I eat her food and fuck in her bed. But she still cooks my meals and mends my clothes and looks at my kids like she might kill a man for 'em."

He thinks to say that those things don't count, that those are things he learned after marrying her. But he's not sure if he's right anymore. He is the inebriated one here.

So he says, "Huh," and slides off his chair. Then he digs out a coin and drops it on the counter. "Go find your wife. I'm going home to mine."

He hears, "You're married?" just before the door closes behind him.

* * *

Of course, she reminds him before the dagger-like light of morning has the chance to stab through his eyelashes.

"You forgot the scissors, didn't you?"

Hiccup winces through one squinting eye, lifting a hand to shield his face from the thin sun streaming through his makeshift, pitiful excuse for a window. "No," he lies, voice scratching through his throat like sand. "I deliberately didn't bring you a pair."

Astrid narrows her gaze at him, lip curled in disgust. Rolling her eyes, she mutters, "Incredible," and turns on her heel. She has to pull at the pair of old pants she stole from his trunk to use as leggings. He's not sure if they're too big or too small– he can only see the silhouette of them beneath the white of her dress– but she has to adjust them around her waist every few moments to keep them up

He peels his torso from the bed furs to watch her stalk back to her corner. The little indent in the cave wall, far from both him and the dragons. Her furs are straightened neatly, the few items she has to call hers stacked in an orderly pile. The towel she kept after her first bath. The dagger she's claimed for herself. Her bridal crown and the slippers she never wears anymore. Her feet are becoming dusty and calloused from the time spent in his caves.

She sighs, reaching down to snatch up the dagger. Hiccup starts, thinking she might attack him out of sheer frustration, but then she gathers a handful of white fabric in her fist and stabs at her dress. Sitting up, he watches her rip at the hole she's made mid-thigh and rubs the heel of his palm into one eye.

Toothless is just as baffled by her actions as he is. The dragon crawls over warily from the main tunnel, side stepping close. Astrid flicks him a glance before returning to the task at hand. She continues slicing and ripping until she completely removes the lower half of her skirt. He can see the brown of his pants, now, cuffed several times at the ankles and baggy around her lower calves.

She takes the ruined skirt of her dress and holds it toward the light for a second. Tucks the blade of the dagger between her teeth. Hiccup's stunned, baffled, unable to look away. Then she finds the hem and wrenches the stitches free with a snarl of torn threads. That makes his already pounding head protest, and he cringes. She must feel his eyes on her, because she pauses to shoot him a glare, but there's no caustic insult to accompany it this time.

He observes her ripping off a long strip of her white skirt. Then she tosses the rest aside. Bunching her ruined dress up at the skirt, she lifts the skirt far above her waist and tucks it under her arm. Hiccup's brows shoot up. Maybe he's still a little drunk. Astrid's pale stomach is bare to him, framed by the bottom edge of her bindings and the waistband of her/his pants. But now he sees her dilemma. The trousers are plenty loose, up until the knee. Then they tighten, clinging to muscled thighs. Her hips are too wide– too feminine. The waistband gapes open, exposing just a glimpse of her underwear, too tight to even fasten.

It might be the hangover, but his mouth feels a little dry. But it's mostly with honest fascination that he watches her rip holes into the pants that she can weave her strip of white fabric through. Astrid ties a tight bow in the back– he wonders briefly what her ass might look like in his pants– and then lets the rest of her dress fall back down. She twists and lifts her knees and tests her new belt. The little huffing noise she makes sounds caught somewhere between irritation and success.

He leans an arm against his knee as she starts towards the tunnels to start her daily ritual of memorizing the maze. "Those were good pants," he says, mostly to annoy her.

She makes a rude gesture with her fingers and disappears without even a glance.

* * *

He's not sure when it began– it's been eleven days since Gobber pressed Astrid to her knees and she looked up at him with hate and expectation– but she's started waiting up for him. He'd say it's a cute and warm picture of domesticity, but usually she's only waiting to harass him.

Sometimes it's demands. Are you gonna let me eat fish the rest of my life? The fire died– get it started again. Take me back to Berk.

Sometimes it's questions. Why did the dragons panic like that? Where do you go while I'm stuck here? Don't you miss your dad? How could you just leave Berk behind? Have you been here for five years?

And sometimes she just glares, watching him with knives in her eyes. He can feel her stares on him, just between his shoulder blades. Occasionally, she'll mutter under her breath– about him being a traitor or a drunk or an ass– but on those nights, she's usually too tired for a fight. He passes out on his bed knowing that she's watching his face and probably planning his death.

Weirder still, though, is the little things. Sometimes he notices as soon as he arrives, stumbling through the dark with exhaustion. Other times he has to sleep before he's lucid enough to pick out the odd things. Like the books that were once a tower threatening to topple and send various sketches and notes scattering– now they're dusted off and stacked by subject with the spines facing out. Or the way his clothes somehow find themselves folded and waiting by his bed in the morning, when he knows he shucked them off and tossed them across the room before falling asleep.

They're weird things. Wifely things. And even though he knows that it's certainly not Toothless leaving him plates of food by the fire, he also can't wrap his brain around the idea of scowling, hostile Astrid quietly shuffling around the cave while he sleeps, turning his shirts right-side-in and sweeping the ashes from the fire.

He asked her about it once. Picked his suspiciously clean boots up off the floor and asked her if she'd scrubbed them free of dirt.

"What do you expect me to do?" she'd snapped, bent over the hem of her dress with the needle and thread he'd actually brought home to let her find. "I sit in this Thor-forsaken place all day and all night, and your pathetic mess is driving me nuts."

He lifted the boots higher, furrowed his brow at the well-worn leather. "Is this the kind of stuff other women usually do for their dragon lord husbands?" He's not sure why he provokes her, really, but for some reason it gives him a little thrill. Sort of like testing his flight suit or approaching a wild animal.

Her head whipped around to give him a sharp glower. "I was bored. Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh no, no flattery here." Yanking the laces loose, he clumsily stepped into his boots and knelt to tie them. "Do you need anything while I'm at work? A new pan? An apron?"

"Poison," she growled. "A ride home."

"Got it! Diamonds for my bride and sweets for the children!"

* * *

"You don't mess with the dragons!" he snarls, dragging her out of the tunnel by her arm. She doesn't even fight, just lets herself be pulled along. Toothless lifts his head from his forelegs when they burst into the main room. "You can sleep here and not cause any trouble, or you can jump into the ocean and swim for it. Take your pick!"

Astrid yanks her arm free, taking a few steps back. "It was growling at me! It was going to attack."

"Because you had a weapon pointed at her!" He shoves the dagger's handle in her face. "You walked into her nest waving a sharp object– what did you want, tea and cookies?"

"I was protecting myself!" she hisses, smacking his hand away. "I have every right to defend myself in here!"

"No! You don't!" Twisting, he gestures towards her things in the corner. "My furs!" His arms wave at his collection of personal effects, along with the basket of fish Toothless keeps stocked. "My food!" Then he points at the few dragons curled up resting by the tunnel's entrance. "My dragons and my place. Even you– according to Berk, you belong to me, so you follow my rules!"

He used to think she was prettiest when she was angry and fierce. Now he just sees an ugly, prejudiced hate. She takes two long strides forward and gives him a surprisingly strong shove. Hiccup stumbles back a couple of steps.

"I am the only thing in this place that doesn't belong to you." she tells him between gritted teeth. "I don't care about your dragons or your food or your rules! I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Fine!" He snatches her fur from her corner and throws it back on the bed. Who knows why Toothless gave it to her anyways. Then he shoves the dagger into his waistband and points at her legs. "Pants. Those are mine. Take them off."

For a second, she just stares and seethes. But then she's reaching beneath her skirt and tearing her makeshift belt undone. Astrid awkwardly pulls off the pants, stumbling a little bit, and then she throws them at his face. "They don't fit anyways."

"Then you don't need them," he says icily.

Her blue eyes narrow. Turning on her heel, she walks away from him, towards the cave entrance. His chest heaves with angry breaths, his hands clenched into fists. He almost doesn't notice the pale stretch of her bare legs, the shadow of her form beneath her dress. She's not blushing and telling him to look away anymore– she's stalking away half naked with her chin held high.

She's infuriating.

* * *

"Toooothless," he warns, his voice low. He pauses halfway through buckling his armor to give the dragon a shake of his head. "Un-uh."

Toothless sniffs towards the girl hugging her knees by the cave's mouth. Then looks back at Hiccup and whines.

* * *

When he returns in the morning after chasing dragons away from Berk all night, they can't land. Various members of his little nest are crowded around the entrance, and Toothless makes a noise of confusion as they're forced to hover just outside.

"What's going on, Bud?" Lifting the facemask of his helmet, Hiccup squints to make out the reason for the obstacle. The dragons, for some reason, have decided to sleep out towards the cold instead of by the tunnel entrance like usual. Whistling sharply, he tries to grab their attention. A few stir at the noise, yawning and shuffling aside, just enough to make a space for him to land.

Others wake when Toothless touches down on the stone ground, blinking blearily at him. It's odd that they're sleeping still when it's almost dawn, even stranger that they've all crowded here.

"What's going on?" he asks, leaning over to pet a purring Rumblehorn. The dragons seem to be piled on each other, curled around something, instead of their normal scattered arrangement.

As more notice his presence, they squirm and shift. And then a few in the center roll to the side, pulling back their wings. In a tight little ball, pale and shivering, Astrid sleeps surrounded by warm dragons.

"You stubborn–!" Hiccup bites off the rest of his exclamation, stepping over tails and horns and wings to reach her. He'd assumed that once he left for the night, she'd go back inside and sit by the fire, but no. The stupid girl actually stayed out in the cold and the wind to prove her point.

He kneels, grabbing her by the elbows and pulling her up. She doesn't wake. Instead, her head falls back and her blonde lashes flutter. Her lips are a faint shade of blue. He whispers a swear that would make even a Viking blush and pulls her limp body over his shoulder. Damn, she's heavy. The dragons part for him as he carries her inside, Toothless warbling questioningly at his heels.

"Alright, Astrid, wake up." He tries to be gentle when he leans over and deposits her on the bed, but she still hits the furs with a little bit of a thump. Tearing off his gloves, Hiccup touches his palm to her cheek and cusses again. His fingers aren't that warm after being in the air for hours, but her skin is freezing even compared to his.

"Shit! Stupid… Stubborn…" With every accusation, he yanks a corner of fur around her. Guilt squeezes his chest, though, makes his racing heart ache. He wraps her up in furs and then half-carries, half-drags her to the middle of the room. There's still a small fire burning– he's not sure if that's left from Toothless' last flame or if one of the other dragons relit it– but he lays her next to it before snatching firewood from the pile in the corner.

The dragons gather close, curious and concerned. Hiccup glances at them and tries not to acknowledge the pebble of shame stuck in his throat as he tugs off his helmet and tosses it aside. After building the fire higher and tearing off his armor, he drops to the floor and pulls Astrid's cold body into his lap. His hands slip beneath the furs to try and rub some warmth into her hands, her arms, her legs.

"You're not even wearing leggings, you impossible woman!" Sticking his fingers as close to the fire as he can without burning himself, he tries to absorb as much heat as he can to transfer to her skin. She'll throw a fit when she finds out he had his grubby paws all over her maidenly skin, but he grits his teeth and mutters that she'll get over it. He'd been exhausted when they arrived, but now he's wide awake.

Toothless scoots around him, nudging at the furs. Resting his head on his rider's knee, the dragon sighs warm air onto the girl's face.

"She's absolutely ridiculous," Hiccup hisses– maybe to the Night Fury, maybe to himself. "H-how do you get to be this hard-headed? You're not just born with this kind of obstinance, it's achieved."

He's talking because he's nervous. He can admit that. This is a familiar kind of anxiousness that only grips him when he knows he's screwed up, and that's a feeling he's well-acquainted with. He screwed up on Berk, he screwed up at life, and now he's screwed with her. She can't be another life on his conscience. Not another loss to cope with. He won't be able to drink this one away.

Hiccup presses his palms against her skin, lifts her close and exhales into the curve of her neck. This is probably the most he's touched her since that first night, when she rode in front of him in Toothless' saddle. When she was weirdly soft and clawing at his stomach in fear. He was so livid, so shocked, he hardly had the chance to marvel at the feel of his childhood love secured against his chest.

He flinches at another memory from that day– shoving her against the wall and kissing her in a moment of anger. It's not often that he'll tell himself he's taken things too far, but that is one perfect example. His blood still boils at the thought of their argument, but the high-pitched sound of her pleading echoing from his recollection makes him feel disgusting and wretched. Like a monster. And it only makes him even more frustrated, because she managed to turn him into the exact thing he told her he wasn't.

He really hates himself sometimes.

* * *

"This is awful," she coughs, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Astrid wrinkles her nose and makes a sour face. Leaning forward, she hands him his flask.

"It'll warm you up, though." Hiccup accepts it with a ghost of a grin. He doesn't feel much like smiling, but until they go to bed, he wants to be civil. Morning light is filtering in now, and they're still staring at the fire with bleary eyes. He lifts the flask to his mouth and swallows down a liquid burn.

"It's just my hands and feet," she tells him, holding both towards the heat. Lying back on his elbows, he watches her stretch her fingers and toes and tries to forget how they felt like ice just minutes ago. "Everything else is fine."

"Unh." His noncommittal noise is more of a substitute for the apology he knows he should say. An empty sound to busy his tongue so he doesn't sound as concerned as he was. Sighing to himself, he stares and pretends not to gaze slides away from her feet and up her calves. He should tell her to put those pants back on, but that feels too much like admitting defeat.

Her legs are surprisingly imperfect. There's some burn scars on the back of one ankle, like maybe she caught an ember or piece of burning debris in her boot. Her knees are all scared up, and there's a deep pink scar slashed up her thigh and disappearing beneath the hem of her skirt. It's interesting. For some reason, he kind of expected the rest of her body to be as flawless as her face.

"Stop staring at them," she suddenly snaps, sobering him, but there's no fight in her voice. "Pervert."

"Nobody wants your chicken legs," he grumbles, half annoyed that he was caught staring and half frustrated that he let a little bare skin distract him.

Astrid lifts one suspicious brow. She doesn't make a retort, though, flexing her fingers and beckoning in the heat. Her eyes go to the fire, and her mouth tightens. "I'm surprised you went through the trouble of reviving me," she mutters quietly.

"Mm." Hiccup takes another swig of liquor– her comment deserves it. "Then I'd need a new wife. And from what I hear, virgins are in limited supply on Berk."

"I'm not your wife."

"I'm going to bed."

* * *

"So, since when are you a married man?" Fiske asks him before he even has a chance to get his mug to his mouth. "Have you had a wife this whole time?"

"It's a… recent development," Hiccup grumbles, glaring into his drink. He wants to unwind after a long shift at the forge, not think about the harpy back home. "No need to break out the wedding presents, though."

"Is she pretty, your wife?"

He snorts. "Too."

"Is she nice?"

His mead nearly goes down his windpipe as he coughs up a laugh. "She told me before I left for work that she hopes I die on the way."

Their conversation is momentarily interrupted as another customer demands the barkeep's attention. He fixes them a drink and accepts payment from someone else before returning to Hiccup's corner of the bar. "So?" he presses, thick beard just barely disguising a twisted smirk. "Why'd you marry her?"

Hiccup frowns and glances at the scissors in the cup behind the bar. It's a rowdy night, and voices clatter around him like so much colliding metal and dragon chatter. "Odin only knows," he says after a minute. "I think I thought she deserved better."

"Hmm." Fiske taps a coin against the bar top in thought. "And now?"

His mead is a little tasteless. "Maybe we both do."


	6. Astrid VI

**VI.**

It's probably the stupidest thing she could do in her situation, but nothing brings her satisfaction quite like aggravating Hiccup. Her latest kicks come from hiding his alcohol in the tunnels while he's out and listening to his cussing echo off the walls as he searches for it later. He's surprisingly difficult to anger. Most of her cruelest insults and lowest blows are shrugged off with some sarcastic dismissal. Comments about his lack of loyalty are met with a snort. Attacks on his character are lucky to earn her an eye roll.

The only thing that really makes him snap is when she swats away or threatens any of the dragons that trot around the caves. That makes his temper flare. But the longer she stays with only dragons for company, the less inclined she is to bother them. It's been weeks now that she's been trapped on his island, and the only dragons that have tried to take a bite out of her are the ones that live deep in the fiery heart of the mountain. She's not wary of the ones that try and inch closer to her furs while she sleeps anymore. There's no reason for her to engage them.

It's a little infuriating. He tries to ignore her, but as much as she hates herself for it, she's starved for interaction. She wants to know where he goes during the night, whether he's been to Berk since that night. She wants to ask questions about his disappearance and get real answers. But it's too hard to be civil to him. Her patience snaps too quickly.

"Y'know," she says one night after he's just gotten in. He's fallen face down on his bed, seemingly too tired to even remove his assortment of buckles and belts and armor. She sits on the edge of his furs and takes a bite of the plum Toothless rolled towards her. "I was thinking today. It's probably a good thing you left Berk."

"Why is that?" he mutters, his voice muffled. His tone is apathetic and rehearsed, telling her he's expecting her baiting.

Astrid inspects her snack appreciatively, and her tongue darts out to chase a drop of juice in the corner of her mouth. "Cause if you'd stayed, you would've been chief eventually. And screwed up as Berk is now, it'd be a complete catastrophe with an unreliable, irresponsible dragon-sympathizer in charge."

"Really, Astrid," he grumbled, rolling over to his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Just think about it." She took another bite. "Picture the first raid with you as chief– all the dragons come and start burning down buildings, and you're like, 'Wait! Don't hurt them!' and then we all watch as Berk turns to ash and the dragons fly off into the sunset with our livestock."

Hiccup just snorts. His hand moves to his waist, tugging his chest piece open and sighing in relief when it gives. "You're right. What a disaster."

"Mhm. We'd have to become vegetarians. Then everybody on the island would be as skinny as you."

"Between you and me, the villagers could stand to eat a salad or two."

She bites down on her tongue, her irritation erupts so quickly. Her gaze narrows, and she brings the heel of her palm down hard on his diaphragm. Hiccup yelps and coughs, sitting up and wheezing in pain. "The hel–?"

"People are starving on that island, you insensitive ass." She feels slightly better after that.

Really, how does he do it? How does he lie so comfortably while she openly mocks him, but one small comment from him makes her blow? It's almost as infuriating as his careless little barbs.

Through his wince, he stares at her like she's either annoying or crazy. Maybe both. "Well, then you should be grateful I'm feeding you," he growls while rubbing his abdomen. He nods at the plum in her hand.

It's her turn to snort. She tilts her head towards the Night Fury curled by the fire. "You don't feed me. Toothless does." It's a weird feeling that follows her statement, something she doesn't want to call camaraderie.

"I feed you! I bring you game and fish!"

"That Toothless catches," she mutters under her breath. The fruit sprays juice when she takes another bite, and she wipes the stickiness from her cheek with the back of her palm.

Hiccup makes an indignant noise, sitting up and pointing a finger at her. He takes a breath, surely about to argue how he provides and protects like any good kidnapper-slash-dragon-master-husband would. But then his protest dies– she watches it on his face.

At first she doesn't understand what's caused the aggravation to drop from his expression, why his accusing finger has gone limp. Then she follows his gaze and realizes he's looking at something on her face. She starts to lift her fingers to her chin, to check if she's got dirt or something smeared there. But then it hits her when she swallows and licks her lips, tasting plum juice there. Hiccup's own mouth parts, and she blinks, realizing their faces aren't really that far apart.

It's over as quickly as it happens. He squeezes his eyes shut, gives his head a tiny shake, and then crawls off the bed. She's still stunned, staring at the spot where he was sitting while he shrugs out of his armor.

"Regardless of who's doing the hunting and fishing, food still gets from out there to in there," he says, pointing at her mouth. She glances down at her half-eaten plum, wondering in the midst of her shock whether he thought about her while picking or buying the fruit in his bag. Doubtful. "I'm getting a bath. I suddenly feel extraordinarily gross."

"Nobody cares what you do, Hiccup," she snaps, but in reality, her thoughts are spinning. She doesn't even watch him disappear into the tunnels.

He's made it clear on more than one occasion that he doesn't find her attractive anymore. Whether it's her skinny legs or her "weird giant bug eyes", he lets her know in no unclear terms that he's not interested in her body. Which has been a slight blow to her ego but just fine by her. She hasn't had to worry about the hands from her first night restraining her or searing her skin. She's gotten so used to his apathy that she really believed he didn't even see her as a woman, much less a pretty one.

But just now, his expression… That strange daze that came over him for just a second. Her lips aren't exactly enticing– chapped and dry as they are– but they caught his attention nonetheless.

This revelation is both alarming and fantastically, spectacularly intriguing.

* * *

She won't lie to herself and say that it's not a little nerve-wracking untying her braid while Hiccup is just meters away. Her heart's fluttering strangely in her chest, and even though it feels completely stupid, she knows it's from excitement. Their daily arguments are growing repetitive, the same accusations traded back and forth, the same scathing insults passed over dinner plates and bed furs. But this– this is different. This is psychological warfare.

"No," her captor groans from his bed. "Bad dragon. Bad."

She's used to this exchange, the usual grumblings while Toothless paws impatiently at his sleeping rider. Fingers pulling her blonde waves apart, she watches with only faint amusement as the Night Fury whines and snuffles and licks. Even though sun is already descending through the second half of its daily arc, it's morning for the dragon lover. If not for Toothless, she knows he'd sleep forever. Hiccup hates mornings. And Hiccup's misery is always her pleasure.

"Fine, fine, fine," he finally mutters, pushing the dragon's head away from his pillow. His voice is still thick with sleep. "Enough with the licking, you know that doesn't wash out."

Astrid observes from her own pallet as he sighs and sits up, rubbing the dreams from his eyes. In his usual habit, his hands grope the furs until they find his flask, and he takes a long draw before shaking his head and stumbling out of bed. She only lets her gaze drop down his bare torso for a second while he scratches behind his ear and tries to get his bearings. He seems to know by now that when he wakes, his clothes will be folded and waiting for him by the fire pit. She can't stand clutter. And so he steps clumsily into his boots and snatches up a shirt to tug over his head.

He has one arm in its sleeve when his eyes fall on her and he pauses.

Her heart jumps into her throat. She tries to remain as casual as possible as she finger-combs through her hair, even as heat threatens to rise to her cheeks. Hiccup blinks for a moment, but then he lifts an eyebrow and continues pulling on his clothes. They hold each other's stares but don't speak, until he turns to follow Toothless out of the cave.

As soon as they take off, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She sits back against the wall, rolling her eyes and allowing her hands to drop to her lap.

He certainly noticed. And then promptly walked away without a word. She's not sure if that counts as a success, but she's a little perturbed and slightly disappointed. The amount of courage it took to let him see her in such a state is disproportionate to the reaction she received.

She frowns and decides to do better next time.

* * *

There is a first time when she worries about him.

It only lasts a second, of course. When he comes home late and she lifts her head from her furs to blearily blink at him, concern is the last thing on her mind. Annoyance. Irritation. The usual spectrum. But then she notices the way Toothless is closely watching his rider as the human almost trips out of his saddle. Hiccup exhales a sharp groan, slouched over and pressing a hand to his side. His steps are slow and shuffled, not his usual stroll.

Really, the way she sits up and gapes is reflex. The skip of her heart is only proof that she's human.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks, pushing back her furs and rising to her feet.

Hiccup breathes a humorless laugh and lowers himself to his bed in a way that tells her he's in pain. His fingers stumble on the buckles of his armor, and his head falls back as he tries to pull them undone. "Your dad says hi."

Astrid gasps a little, putting two and two together. He went to Berk tonight. There obviously must have been a fight.

And just like that, her worry evaporates. At the thought of her home, she reminds herself that he deserves whatever injury he's sustained. Even a little note of satisfaction makes her mouth curl just so at the corners.

But she's not heartless like him. She can't leave him to suffer the way he left his father. Feeling just a little sorry for his pitiful panting, she crosses the room and sits next to him on the bed. She presses his head down none too gently, and he lets her ease off his helmet. It tumbles to the floor. He mutters for her to stop when she reaches for the straps to his chest piece, but she smacks his hands away and gives him a poke that makes him yelp.

"What happened?" She unbuckles the strap crossing around his waist and carefully pushes back the dragon scale vest.

"Nnh," he grunts, letting her help him tug the piece off. "Surprisingly enough, hammers are stronger than ribs. Go figure."

Astrid snorts softly. She tugs up the hem of his shirt and then pauses for just a heartbeat. His bare chest is something she's memorized by now, even felt against her more than once. But undressing him feels absurdly intimate for a moment, until she shakes her head and steels her nerves. "What were you doing there?"

"Paying your bride price," he retorts, a wince in his voice. She pulls the shirt off of his right arm first, then gently pulls it over his head. Then he slowly lifts his left arm for her to slide it off.

She had wondered about that. Whether or not he held up his end of the council's "offer". He never tells her where exactly he goes during the night, so she wasn't sure whether or not Berk was one of his secrets. It must be, though. He must be keeping the dragons at bay like Stoick wanted. At least her captivity is doing some good for someone, then.

Hiccup's definitely already bruising. For now, it only appears as a bright red swell along his left ribs, but she knows that'll darken gruesomely overnight. "Here," she mumbles, scooting off the bed so he can stretch out. "Lay down."

"I've got it," he tells her, pushing her away with his good arm, but he obeys anyways. "I've been doing this myself for years."

"Congratulations," she snaps, finding his chest piece among the furs and pulling his flask from the inside pocket. "Here. Drink until you're less annoying." She tosses it towards him, trying not to smirk when it glances off his face.

"Funny. Usually I drink until you're less annoying."

"Does it work?" She crawls over his legs and up his side. Toothless sets his head on the bed and sniffs at his rider.

Hiccup shrugs and takes a swig, reaching his arm out to scratch behind the Night Fury's ear. "Sometimes."

Astrid shakes her head, pressing into his side with the tips of her fingers. He grunts but doesn't stop her, keeping heavy-lidded eyes on her face. His skin is hot, to be expected of an injury, but a strange thought in the back of her head reminds her that he's always just a little warmer than normal. She's never been great at healing or first aid, but she tries to concentrate as she searches for breaks. Her hair keeps falling in her face– pieces have come free from the knot she tied atop her head– and she blows them out of her eyes with puffs of breath.

Astrid jumps when she feels fingers brushing her temple. She looks up from Hiccup's ribs to see that he's got his hand extended toward her, holding back the whisps of hair bothering her. At first she wants to jerk away, but the frown on his face tells her he doesn't like their situation any more than she does. So she glances back down at his side and continues her inspection.

"I don't think anything's broken," she announces after a few minutes. "Pity. They might still be fractured, though, so you should take it easy tomorrow."

Hiccup lets her hair fall back into her eyes and physically removes her hands from his chest. He throws his arm over his face. "Great. Now get off my bed and stop acting like a wife before I take you like one."

She scoffs, flicking his injury before crawling back over his legs and standing. "You couldn't even if you tried." Her fingertips tickle over the top of Toothless' head as she steps over him and makes her way back to her own furs.

Her cocky reply is only a disguise for the rapid beating of her heart, though. She presses her palm over her sternum, turning her face so he won't see the smug purse of her mouth if he glances over.

Since that first night, he hasn't given her any reason to be afraid of his eyes or hands or hips. Even the morning when she woke up shivering and cold in his arms, legs bare and skirt rising high on her thighs, he didn't give her the impression that he'd done anything dishonorable while she was unconscious and half dressed. As much as she hates him, she doesn't think he'd really force himself on her. That first night– she knows by now it was a scare tactic.

But just now, with her leaning over his torso and her fingers exploring his skin, he threatened her. Astrid brings her knees to her chest and ducks her head to hide her grin. He's gone from insulting her physical appearance and insisting she's untouchable to warning her away from his bed. Such a subtle change in his scowling manner, such a different tactic of distancing himself.

She's thrown him off. Unbalanced him. Done something to catch him off guard and make him want space.

And that, she thinks, counts as a sort of victory.

* * *

"Toothless,where are my clothes?"

It'sthe first thing she hears from the tiny opening in the cave'sceiling. He's awake. Astrid doesn't even try to bite back avillainous smile as she soaks up sunshine, warm and perfect on her face.

There are scrabbling noises from the room she's been trapped in for weeks. The sound of boots on rock, furs being searched and overturned. She hears the scrape of his trunk grinding across the floor, and then the creak of the lid as he flips it open. After a moment, he swears.

"Toothless… Where's my fake wife?"

She nearly gives herself away then and there, having to throw her hand over her mouth to keep back a giggle. The just barely spring wind feels cool and wonderful as it skims over her skin. She'd nearly cried when she first climbed all the way to the cave's roof and saw the sky stretching uninterrupted above her.

For a few minutes, she sighs contently and listens to the sound of Hiccup's angry voice echoing off the walls. He calls her name over and over, first with irritation and exasperation, and then with a hint of concern. The echoes disappear for a moment as he likely disappears too deep into the tunnels for her to hear, but then a few minutes they reappear, accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Astrid!" he shouts, and now he sounds almost panicked. She crosses one bare foot over the other and buries her toes in the thin grass of the mountainside. "Shit. Shit." The sound of his boots grows further away from the little window, and then she hears him over by the cave's mouth. "She's not stupid enough to swim for it, you think? Gods, who am I talking about– c'mon, Bud, we've gotta find her before she drowns."

It's only a little funny that the only thing she can't do is swim. Though, if she really gets fed up with him, jumping and drowning is always an option.

"Up here, beloved of mine!" She uses his favorite method of torturing her against him, relishing the pet name as it rolls off her tongue. The only regret she has is that she can't see his expression.

"Astrid?"

"Yes, sweet husband?"

She hears Toothless' talons scrape rock as they take off, a sound she knows by heart. And then she feels the breeze of beating wings and feels a shadow fall over her as something blocks the sun. Lifting a hand to block her eyes, she squints up to see Hiccup glaring at her from his dragon's back. The Night Fury himself looks pleased to see her, tongue lolling to one side of a grin, but his rider looks equal parts baffled and murderous.

"What in Thor's name are you doing up here?" he blurts, easing Toothless onto the mountainside. He quickly dismounts, looking from her to the rocks covered in her damp garments. Her bindings are all stretched out for him to see, along with her dress and pants.

She sits up on her elbows and shrugs, tilting her head at a nearby boulder where his own clothes are drying. "Laundry."

For the first time, she thinks, she has rendered Hiccup Haddock speechless. He shakes his head and gapes at her underwear, laid out for anyone to see. Then he blinks back over to her and his eyes bulge. "What are you wearing?!"

Astrid glances down. "Your tunic?" She pinches the black fabric between her fingers and tugs it taut for him to see. She's having a hard time biting back that giggle again. It's weird wearing his clothes, especially since they smell like sulfer and smoke and him. The fabric brushes strangely against her bare breasts. But the way his mouth has fallen open as he stares at the hem just reaching the tops of her thighs makes it worth it.

"Why are you– how did you– that is mine!" He points at her, and then his clothes, then hers. "You can't… Take that off! You're coming skin-side– inside!"

"My clothes aren't dry yet," she reminds him innocently. "I've only got these– do you want me to walk around wearing dirty underthings?"

He must have realized that she's not wearing anything between his shirt and her body, because he wheezes a noise that sounds like he's been punched in the gut. If the halo of the sun isn't playing tricks on her eyes, his neck is turning a faint shade of pink.

Then he turns on his heel, lifting himself back into his dragon's saddle. "Keep it. I don't want it anymore."

She finally laughs when he flies back inside, bare chested and huffy.

* * *

She's getting in over her head.

She realizes that what she's doing is crazy and inappropriate and would very well give her mother a stroke if she ever hears about it. But those few seconds where Hiccup stares at her with such sincerity are becoming too precious. She craves them, the shocked expressions and the suddenly balled fists. It's as if almost– for a heartbeat– he's the boy she used to know. The one who stammered and blushed and gave her dorky grins. She's not sure when that taken aback expression became so important to her, but every time he flicks his gaze away without so much as a raised brow, she feels like she's failed.

So she has no doubt that to anyone else in the entirety of Midgard, this might seem like insanity, but to her, it's the only way she can win. Turn the cold and disinterested Dragon Master into a human being again.

Astrid sets her knife and bridal crown on top of her folded clothes, adjusting her bindings as she stands to ensure they're properly knotted in place. There's one dragon who didn't leave with Hiccup, a small hatchling type thing that watched the rest of the beasts fly after their master into the dark. It's watching her now, and she sighs at it as she smooths her hands over her sides.

"Don't worry, I get left behind too," she tells it dryly, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed. Her fingers go to her braid, pulling free the cord that binds her hair. "What do you think? Irresistible? Or too skinny and bug-eyed?"

The dragon chirps up at her, rolling onto its back at her feet. Astrid snorts and– after a moment of hesitation– leans over to give its pale belly a quick rub.

This is his bed. His place. The one thing that no matter how comfortable she gets, she swore never to sleep in. Even when he's gone, even if he'd never know. She had committed herself to the cold, hard floor. But now she's burying herself inside, pulling a liquor-scented fur over herself and pressing her face into the pillow. Gods, this is crazy. This could end badly. It's possible that he really could kick her out without a modicum of interest or secret desire. It's possible that he could find her just as unappealing as he claims to.

But the reward is worth the risk, so she pulls the blanket up to her chin and waits.


	7. Hiccup VII

**VII.**

The first time he saw Astrid in that white dress, being pulled forward by the man he used to call his mentor, Hiccup was so taken aback he could barely breathe. She was even prettier than he remembered, done up in lip paints and an intricate braid, and a bridal crown was woven into her hair. For a second, it was as if his old childhood fantasies had come to life. Except she wasn't smiling at him. She was shoved to his knees in front of him.

He doesn't remember why exactly he took her. Really, he should have left her to be with her family and her people. But whenever he thinks of them, forcing her into that white gown and presenting her to a stranger to do with what he pleased, he seethes. Not because he harbors that same fluttery crush or because Astrid specifically deserves any sort of justice, but because they'd become cowards and heathens in his absence. Traitors who'd given up one of their own to be assaulted, abused, or killed.

It's probably fortunate that it was Astrid, in the end. As much as he wants to strangle her sometimes, if she'd been a sweet and pitiful wilting flower, he probably would have taken her home long ago. As it stands, she irritates him to no end, and therefor he's less inclined to do as she asks. Berk doesn't deserve their maiden back.

She's impossible. Infuriating. Forever stubborn and ridiculously hostile in everything she does. He couldn't have picked a more hard-headed Viking to try and assimilate to dragon life. Except maybe his good-for-nothing father.

Sometimes while she sleeps he glares at her– hates her for the interruption she's caused in his life, for the never ending frustration she brings him. She even sleeps angrily, hands balled into fists close to her chest, mouth tight, brow furrowed. As if she might wake to an aggressor, she sleeps like she's coiled to strike. It started off as funny– Astrid Hofferson, scared of him. But then it just made him scowl for reasons he's never sober enough to want to explore.

More often than he wants to admit, he plays with her bridal crown and thinks about how things might have been if he'd never left. He could've stayed, tried to kill that Nightmare and taken his place as first in dragon training. Then maybe he could've tried changing their minds, slowly but surely. Once he had their respect, maybe he could earn their trust. Change Berk for the better. Who knows– perhaps he could've even made Astrid see that dragons were good. Maybe after proving himself, she'd like him more, grow to see that he wasn't a coward the way she thinks he is now. Maybe she could've worn that white dress and this bridal crown and been smiling at him.

But all of his pondering just brings him back to the same place. His village isn't what it used to be. His father is a bad man. The world is full of killers and traitors and nothing good lasts. He's practically married to a girl who hates him, a girl who sleeps like a warrior, not a wife.

Except he's drunk enough right now that she looks like one.

Odin's ghost, what is she doing? Trying to kill him, he's pretty sure. He stands over his bed with a hand lost in his hair, the other numbly hanging onto his helmet, and he tries to figure out why his heart is thudding so hard at the sight of her.

This is his bed, right? He turns a complete circle to be sure he's not just going crazy, but no– she's in his furs. His bed, with her golden hair all loose and wild around her. Hiccup lets the helmet go, sitting down at her side and leaning his elbows on his knees. No furrowed brow, no fisted hands. Her lips are soft and slightly parted, her fingers splayed under her cheek. Blonde lashes brush the crests of her cheeks as her eyelids flicker and twitch with dreams. She looks peaceful. She looks like a wife in her marriage bed.

This is so bad. His head spins as he twists to his hands and knees and throws a leg over hers. She can't do this. Can't just come into his life and take over everything. He thinks of that first night, of the softness of her body against his. It's an awful memory now, but he remembers why he did it– to remind her that he could be more dangerous than she takes him for. To make her realize that he's not the dorky boy she remembers. Scaring her– for her own good.

He's had enough to drink that it seems like a good idea again.

He lowers his face, intending to whisper in her ear, but his clumsy mouth collides with her jaw, and he decides to go with it. She stirs, unintentionally tilting her head to allow him access to her throat. Astrid makes a sleepy noise, almost like a cat mewling, and he slides his fingers into her hair. It's even softer than he expects.

Hiccup knows exactly when she wakes, because she inhales sharply and grabs the sleeve of his shirt. He drags his lips back to her ear and murmurs, "You're in the wrong bed, darling."

She exhales, but doesn't reply, shifting beneath him. The fur between them comes loose, and his hand tightens at the back of her head when he realizes that her dress is missing. The cleavage of her breasts is barely visible beneath the top of her bindings, pale and forbidden.

His mouth goes dry, and he thinks about pulling away. But he's not stupid. He knows this is part of the game she's been playing as of late. She wants to test him, to see how he'll react. She wants to see him lose his train of thought, to make a joke of his shock. So he calls her bluff, tearing back the blanket and laying his body against her bare curves.

"Want to be my wife for real, then?" He kisses across her warm collarbone, daring a hand downwards to check if she's even wearing the pants she stole from him. She's not. "Is that why you're waiting up for me naked?"

She arches into him, and he's struck by an absurd, awful wave of arousal. He hasn't slept with a woman in months. His body knows it. When she was squirming against him and telling him to stop– that didn't feel like sex. This– the slow and sleepy way she's rising against him– this feels like sex. It's as frustrating as it is enticing.

"I thought I was unattractive," she breathes into his hair, the hand fisted in his shirt unfurling to curl around his upper arm.

"I don't have to keep my eyes open," he answers cruelly. But he'd want to. Oh, how he'd want to. He doesn't like her, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how beautiful she is. He's gotten used to lying lately, but that's all it is– lies. To keep her in check and him from looking too closely. Drunk as he is, he can't deny that he'd love to watch every crinkle of her brow, every little curl of her lips. The mental image doesn't help his growing desire.

"I thought you'd rather have Berk's ugliest whore than me," she challenges again, throwing old words back at him. She's panting, responding to his mouth. It's a strange bolster to his pride.

He slides his hand back up her waist, squeezes the swell of her breasts. His knee wedges between hers and pries her legs apart. "If Berk's ugliest whore was in my bed, I wouldn't even be aware of your presence." Another lie. She has to pull away soon, or he'll have to. She'll chase him from his own bed, damn her.

Astrid reaches up to tug his head away from her chest, and he thinks she's about to give in and slink back to her own bed. But then she leans up to steal his mouth against hers, and he can't help but groan into her. "Admit you want want me and I'll get out," she sighs between her parted lips. Her thighs tighten around his, pulling him too close.

His refusal comes out somewhat like a growl. "Get out and I'll leave you a maiden."

She laughs, nails scraping against his scalp. "I win either way, Hiccup. You tell me you want me, or you show me you want me."

"You think I won't?" He reaches between them, fumbling for the buckles of his flight suit. His chest piece comes undone easily, and he shrugs out of it in an unspoken threat.

She leans back so that she can meet his gaze, the fire reflecting in her eyes. "I think you want to more than you'll admit."

Hiccup tugs his shirt over his head with one hand. She used to be afraid of him. Used to demand he look the other way while she bathed and threaten him if he drew too close. Now she plays with him, teases him. Reminds him how awkward he used to be, how perfect and untouchable she once was to him. The only way he can win this now is to get up and walk away. Feign that disinterest he's tried to hard to achieve. But he's not sure he has the willpower.

The friction of her bare skin against his stomach is like a rake over hot coals. Sparks of hunger claw through him, heat roiling over his skin like gathering storm clouds. He hisses into the curve of her neck, hand searching the side of her bindings for the knot he knows he'll find. She even lifts her chest to help him.

"What about you, then?" He traces the line of her throat with his tongue. At her shaky little moan, he wants to punch the pillow. "Aren't you admitting you want me right now?"

The little slap she give his hand stings, and he grins because he thinks he's won. But she only jerks free the knot of her bindings and tugs them loose. "I never called you unattractive," she murmurs, finding his fingers and pulling them back to the strips of falling fabric. "I never talked about all the men I'd rather have instead of you."

"You said you'd throw yourself off the mountain before you let me touch you again." To emphasize his deadpanned statement, he brushes his fingertips across the so-soft peak of one breast, circles it until the pink flesh rises and hardens.

"You said you were unselfish enough to stop." There's a thread of a whimper in her accusation.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Do you want to stop?"

She's trying his self control. They're an agitated tangle of panting and searching and stubbornness. He swears he'll tear away the moment she backs out, but she doesn't. Astrid shivers and runs her fingers through his hair, even when he lowers his mouth to the ribbons of her bindings and laves at the soft flesh of her breasts. Her twisting and arching makes him press her into the furs. The heat of her forbidden sex burns against his hypersensitive groin.

He's a young teenager again, caught in a fantasy he never could have imagined would come true. She's loose hair, hot breaths, holding him close. He's had several women beneath him like this, but none that remind him so much of home. More than he can say out loud, more than he can allow himself to think, he wants her. Wants her smug teasing to disappear. Wants her to wrap her legs around him. Wants to sully her and please her and show her that he's not his father's skinny, useless son anymore. Through the haze of drunken arousal, he can only see the face of the girl he used to love hopelessly and foolishly.

His nails scratch her when he pulls down her underwear. Hiccup expects her to panic now, to wriggle out of his arms and screech at him to stop. Instead, she lifts her hips, helps him ease the fabric off. Her palm rubs against the seam of his pants, and he throbs against her hand. So quietly he thinks it might be a pop from the fire, he hears her breath hitch.

"How many women have you done this with?" she asks, just before he touches her for the first time.

He shouldn't feel guilt– doesn't really– but it suddenly occurs to him that none of the others were throwing away their firsts on him. She's the only one to know only him. Hiccup knows that'll mean something in the morning.

"A few," he grunts honestly. "Not all that many."

Astrid doesn't reply to that. Her fingers trace the outline of him, straining against his pants, and he lifts his gaze, curious to see her face. She stares back at him with something like determination. He would retreat now, if he was the good man he used to be. He doesn't want to.

Hiccup kisses her mouth with all the frustration of the past several weeks. He has to remind himself that he's not with the Astrid of what-could-have-been, but the girl who fights him every day. That girl's supposed to taste like bitterness and lost opportunities, but she's just as sweet as the fantasies he used to conjure. And she gasps just the same when he finds the surprisingly slick warmth between her thighs. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between her lips and explore her even deeper.

She surges into him, pulling her knees closer to her chest in an unspoken plea for more. The softness of her skin against his sides feels unreal. His fingertip draws circles around her, dipping in and out, and his free hand follows that long scar up the outside of her thigh. When he finally slides the entirety of his finger inside her, she makes a noise deep in her throat that nearly destroys him.

Soon enough she's shaking beneath him. He came to bed drunk on hard liquor, and now he's drunk on her breathy moans. Drunk on the power she's put in his hands. This aggravating, impossible, beautiful girl– she's becoming submissive, something he never thought her capable of. Still, he won't let her finish. Not without him.

"Last chance," he warns her, tearing at the laces of his pants. "You can still go back to your bed."

Astrid reaches forward to feel him, curls her fingers around the hot, pulsing shaft. He can't bite back the short groan he wants to suppress. She's cool and gentle and innocently curious, and he can hardly keep himself from shattering that innocence without concern or consideration.

She gives him a squeeze, and her eyes flick to his. "You want me," she says, and it's not a question, not a demand. It's a statement, proven by the evidence she holds in her hand.

His jaw tightens. He tugs her hand away and guides himself to the gate of her wet heat. When she doesn't protest or shove him back, he presses into her, groans as his head pushes into a perfect warmth. Then with another steady thrust, he's able to sink further and deeper.

A shudder of pleasure shakes him, forces him to be still so he doesn't break before he's even begun. During that pause in which he's swallowing hard and forcing his mind to drift, he realizes that Astrid's fingers have dug into his shoulders. He can feel her nails stinging his skin and hear her harsh breaths against his ear. But he refuses to lift his head from the curve of her neck. He can't be gentle with her. Can't be kind. He has to be the cruel husband she was given to, has to warn her away from ever testing him again.

Sobered by the thought, he retreats for just a breath before shoving back inside her. She makes a high pitched little noise that isn't exactly a whimper. "You're right, Astrid, I want you." He pulls back, and then hears that bitten-off cry when he thrusts into her again. "I've always wanted you. And I probably will always want you."

"I knew it," she breathes, voice a little strained. On the next slam of his hips, though, she rises up to meet him.

"I can want you and still despise you," he reminds her. His hand clamps down on the back of her neck, and he presses his forehead to hers. "You're still everything about Berk I hate."

The longer he pistons inside her, gripping her waist to hold her in place, the more pleasure colors her voice. "And you're still despicable," she whispers, even as she leaves kisses along his jaw.

It's a quick and dirty tryst, more teeth than lips and more claws than caresses. He tugs at her her hair, hooks her knees over his shoulders. He's rougher and harder than he's ever been, and he wishes it wasn't because he's afraid to be tender with her. In the end, he spills inside her before he's sure if she's even close. He tells himself she doesn't deserve any better than he'd give a prostitute, and that's all she is really. She makes a noise that is definitely not pleasure when he pulls out, and he rolls away without even looking at her.

Astrid falls asleep surprisingly quickly after that, still in his bed but turned on her side so she doesn't have to face him. Her furrowed brow and sleepy fists are back. He stays awake for a long time, though, staring at the ceiling as it swirls above him. His chest aches for some reason, and he thinks it might be his injury from a couple weeks back protesting at exertion.

He's disgusting. He knows it just as well as her. It set in the moment he pulled away, when her eyes darkened with the realization that he was done with her. He's no better than the demon Berk thinks they traded her to, maybe even worse. Self loathing coils in the pit of his stomach, churning and twisting until he thinks he might be sick.

Hiccup turns his head to look at her. She also sleeps curled in on herself, like a ball. It would make him think of a dragon, if he didn't already have the image of a wounded animal in his head. Her blonde locks fall around her, glittering in the morning light that falls in from the window. The slow expanding and collapsing of her breathing reminds him that he's wide awake, even though exhaustion clings to his bones like ice. His hand reaches for her, traces the column of her spine until it disappears beneath the bed fur.

With a swear, he twists to his side and slips his arm around her, pulling her close. Astrid stirs, sleepily reaching to push him away, but he grips her tight. "Shh," he hushes her annoyed groan. "Just be still."

Then he slips his leg between hers, just enough so that he can reach her still-swollen center. She's slick, but he's sure it's not from arousal, more likely his seed. Before she can protest and escape from his arms, he draws slow circles in the cleft of her sex, brushing his mouth across the nape of her neck. At first she tenses, likely wondering if she's about to be subjected to another painful fucking, but after a few moments of his easy, light touches, she sighs and lets the tension in her shoulders dissolve.

Hiccup finds the little pearl he knows she'll like and ghosts the pad of his fingertip across it. Her hips jolt, and he massages the tiny bud until her even breaths have turned sharp and heavy. He slips his other arm beneath her waist so he can reach her breasts. He lets his calloused hand draw senseless pictures into the smooth flesh, sometimes tugging gently on her petal-soft nipples. He's careful not to so much as scrape her shoulder with his teeth, leaving only the tenderest of kisses against her neck.

She begins to twitch and squirm in his arms, exhaling trembling moans that break the silence of early morning. One hand grabs hold of the forearm barred across her chest, not pulling or pushing, just resting.

He forgot how to apologize a long time ago. Somewhere between watching men die and leaving people behind, he lost the words he's supposed to say. But he can at least right his wrong, correct his temporary lapse of courtesy.

He thinks to himself as she begins to rock against his hand and squeeze his wrist tightly. Even if she was raised from birth to be the way she is, she's still just angry and hurt. Her family threw her away, and the people she trusted gave her up. He loathes everything she stands for, but that shouldn't give him the right to treat her the way he does. Hiccup sighs into her shoulder, nuzzles against her pale skin.

"Ah– hnn." She presses back into him, the curve of her ass stirring a new heat in his groin, but he ignores it. Instead, he carefully eases a finger inside of her and lets her grind and hump against his palm until her breathing becomes thready. He holds her tight, sucking at the fluttering of her pulse at her throat. Then she says his name, quiet and embarrassed– "Hic-Hiccup."

It's like a dam breaking in his chest. With one little exhale, his self loathing rushes free. He rubs her clit a little harder with his thumb, reaching down to hold her hips still so he can do all the work. She still tries to writhe and take his finger further inside, so he slips another into her tightening heat. He wants to whisper to her, to say something kind and sweet, but he can't think of anything sincere, so he simply kisses the side of her throat and focuses on pleasuring her.

She's not loud when she finally comes undone. Her gasp hitches, her body goes taut, and then she's fluttering and pulsing around his fingers. The choked little noises she makes are quiet, her exhales sharp and warm against his forearm. For a long minute, she shakes and pants and holds his wrist so tightly he wonders if she might break it.

After, her grip loosens, and she doesn't make any pained sounds when he withdraws his fingers. Hiccup doesn't want to pull away while she's still trembling, so he listens to her breathing and decides to move when it evens out again. But now he finds that his eyelids are far too heavy, and he drifts off before she stops her shivering against his chest.


	8. Astrid VIII

**VIII.**

She wakes first, of course, because he could sleep until the sun has already set again. It's strange and disorienting more than it is either relaxing or distressing. She's almost too warm, which is never an issue when she sleeps with just a skin between her and the hard floor. She's surrounded by soft furs that smell like a pub that maybe caught on fire, and she can hear the sound of Hiccup's breaths much closer than usual.

Astrid sits up– or tries to. When she pushes up on her elbow so she can slowly and quietly sneak away, she's pulled short by a tug on her scalp. Biting back the yelp on her tongue, she realizes that Hiccup has his fingers knotted and fisted in her hair. She'd very carefully squirmed out of the cage of his arm while he slept, but after she fell back asleep, his hand must have found its way back to her.

Wincing, she whispers a swear and untangles his fingers one by one until she can free herself. She notices not for the first time that callouses cover the underside of his palm and fingers– they catch and snag on strands of blonde. Once she can sit up properly, she rubs the spot on her scalp and stares at his face for a minute. She'll never get over how less intimidating he seems while sleeping, more like the dorky boy from her childhood.

He's certainly not a child now. Astrid blushes as she turns away, sliding out from between the furs. Her body responds with unusual aches and twinges, and it makes her cheeks warm to remember what's caused them. A bit of shame sounds oddly like her mother's voice in the back of her head, but it's not nearly the crushing feeling she expected. Her nakedness doesn't feel bad or disgraceful, just… cold. And exposed. She tiptoes to her things and slips into her dress. Then she grabs her towel and finds her underwear on the floor by Hiccup's bed. Her bindings are still unraveled beneath him and therefore unreachable.

While she bathes and scrubs his touch off her skin, she tries not to think of the sound of his voice rattling around her head. The harsh, almost angry threats. His panted groans of pleasure. And the quieter murmuring of his lips at her ear when his arm slipped around her waist and drew her close. They're all jumbled together with echoes of his fingers between her legs, the sweat on his skin, the bruise of his hipbones against her thighs. She rubs her face and groans, unable to forget.

Some places just ache. Others are raw and hurt to touch. But she washes herself like she hasn't in a long time, picturing his scent like a fine layer of dust on her skin. She doesn't want to take any part of him with her when she leaves his bed. Just the satisfaction of having proved him a liar. As much as she scrubs, though, there are things she can't erase. The blotchy red spots on her breasts. The smudged bruise of fingertips on one side of her waist. Those places can't be washed away.

Astrid frowns as she towel-dries her hair and thinks about what she'll say when he wakes. The hard, rough way he handled her was easy to understand. But the strange softness that he adopted afterwards confused her. Hiccup is only soft towards his dragons. She doesn't want that softness. The idea of a kind and gentle kidnapper makes her uneasy.

Her fears are allayed the moment she returns from the tunnels, though. She steps into the afternoon light and abruptly yelps at the ball of fabric tossed towards her face.

"Get dressed," Hiccup orders around a yawn, not looking at her as he awkwardly hops into his trousers. She notices just the edge of his dragon-scale tattoo extending down his hip before it's covered by leather. "You have to look like a lady today. Or a human, at least, if that's too much of a challenge."

Untangling the ribbons of her bindings, she shrugs back out of her dress and tries to resist the self consciousness attempting to rise in her chest. The fabric sticks to the humidity on her skin. "You know, after what you did last night, your little comments are only an insult to your standards."

"What we did last night isn't the weirdest thing I've done while drunk." He scratches a dragon's head as it rubs past his legs and retrieves his shirt from the floor. When he turns to tug it over his head, her gaze catches on a streak of red standing out against his pale skin. It's on his bad shoulder, the one scarred by pinkish spidery lines. But as she squints and clumsily wraps her breasts, she realizes that the mark isn't an old injury– it's her own little branding. The scrape left behind by her nails.

That makes her feel better about the splotches and bruises on her body. Eye for an eye, as the gods would have it. Satisfied, she finishes dressing and begins tying her hair into a damp braid. "Why am I getting dressed? Are you taking me home?"

"You're not going back to Berk," Hiccup sighs. "Get over it."

She balances on one foot as she rolls up the hem of her/Hiccup's pants. "Are you bringing someone else here?"

"Nope." His lips pop on the end of the word. Hiccup sits on the edge of his bed and wrestles with his boots. He glances at her as he struggles, rolling his eyes then raising an impertinent brow. "Try again, Astrid."

She scans down at her body to make sure everything is straightened and presentable. She's as put together as she can be. "I only have these, you know. There wasn't exactly a wardrobe in my mundr."

He shakes his head and chuckles darkly under his breath. "You're a wife now. You wear marriage braids."

* * *

There's a problem with her legs. They won't stop trembling.

The ground is solid under her feet, but she still can't shake off the sensation of flying. The world feels like it's moving beneath her, projecting her forward, and she keeps worrying that maybe she'll lose her balance at any moment. She doesn't remember this strange sort of sky-sickness from the first time she rode in Toothless' saddle, but maybe the darkness kept her stomach in place.

She's so distracted by the after-effects of their flight that she doesn't even care that Hiccup has his hand on her back, pushing her through this unfamiliar village. People nod at them and stare as they pass, and beneath the layer of unsteadiness, she's exhilarated by the sight of strangers. She was beginning to believe that she and Hiccup were the only humans in the world.

"What is this place?" she mumbles, drinking in the clamor of voices and life around her. She can smell baked goods and livestock, flowers and wet earth. Smells she's missed since being confined to his mountain.

"Bulg," he answers, mouth twisted and almost annoyed. "It's an island not far from us."

She thinks back to the map stretched across the cave wall, but she doesn't recall seeing this tiny village. "What are we doing here?"

"Errands." Hiccup nods and waves awkwardly at the people who greet them. Some with half a smile, some with his hand uncomfortably rubbing his neck. They seem to know him, and several raise their brows at the sight of her by his side. "We've gotta run by the forge first."

She follows at his heels as he moves through the narrow streets. If there was ever a chance for her to escape, it would be now. This village seems even smaller than Berk, though, and she's not sure it'd provide her the anonymity she'll need to get home. For now, she'll bide her time and see what her options are.

She smells the forge before Hiccup even nods towards it. The clanging of a hammer against an anvil rings familiarly, and the scent of coal hangs on the air. It reminds her of being fourteen, leaving her precious axe with Hiccup to be sharpened or adjusted. Has he continued working as a blacksmith after all? It's such a strange dose of normalcy that she finds herself surprised.

When they step into the stifling heat of the small building, she instantly catches sight of an enormous man working at the anvil. Much younger than Gobber, but maybe a decade older than herself. The blacksmith looks up when he sees Hiccup in his peripheral, and his sweaty face breaks into a grin.

"Horrendous! What're you doin' here in the middle of the day?" He sets down his hammer and crosses the room.

Hiccup's smile is sincere when he shrugs. "Just came by to pick up my shares."

Then the man's gaze slides to her, and his eyes widen just slightly. "Is this your friend?"

"Wife," Hiccup ammends, only a little distaste in his answer. To Astrid he says, "Gus is the worst blacksmith in Midgard."

"I'm getting better!" he insists. "I just finished those knives for Claudius. Wanna check 'em out for me?"

"Sure," he nods.

The man– Gus– leans towards her when he speaks. "I wasn't interested in any of this smithing mess. When my uncle died, there was nobody to take over, so I got stuck with it. Luckily, Horrendous came looking for work a couple weeks later."

"Horrendous," she says out loud, face twisted with confusion. Then she realizes that's an odd thing for any wife to mumble, so she adds, "…is a good blacksmith."

Hiccup instantly asks Gus a question about some order, probably to distract him from her slip-up. They begin discussing things that fly over her head, so she wanders the forge while she waits. Weapons, shiny and in various stages of completion, line the walls. She runs a finger against the edge of an axe and longs for her own.

"Careful," Gus tells her distractedly. "Lots of those are sharp."

Since she isn't facing him, she can roll her eyes and not be considered rude. Astrid nods, though, moving on to a display of armor in need of polishing. As she inspects it, she hears the men's voices drop and focuses her ear to their conversation.

"…you brought her by before?" Gus whispers.

"Same reason you don't pull a live shark on deck," Hiccup mutters back.

"I didn't even know you had a wife. How long've you been married?"

"Uh, I guess about a month now. Maybe two?" He raises his voice. "Honey, how long's it been since the wedding?"

"Fifty-two long, miserable days," she supplies, admiring a sword that she somehow knows is her husband's handiwork.

Hiccup grins and nods.

When the blacksmith speaks again, he's even quieter. "…fucking gorgeous, but… married once before… nip it in the bud…"

"Ah– thanks for the advice, I guess."

Astrid makes her way to the work table close to the fire, tilting her head at a leather cloth with five small throwing knives tucked into notches. Generally speaking, she's not a projectile person, but she does like throwing knives. She makes a note to try her aim with the knife back at their island.

The sound of a clearing throat draws her attention. She glances up to see Gus and Hiccup looking her way, and the bulky man gives her an amused but scolding smile. The way one might look at a muddy child. "Why don't you come over here?" he chides. "You might nick those pretty hands."

She can't help it this time– her brow furrows indignantly. But then she forces herself to bat her lashes and look properly chastised. "Can I hold one?"

At his side, Hiccup props a hand on his hip and rubs his lips as if he's disguising a smirk. But Gus sighs and gives his companion a look that seems to say what can you do?

"Just be careful," he warns her. "Don't touch the edge."

Pouting her lips and nodding, she very gently selects a knife and picks it up. Weighing it in her flat hand, she tilts it this way and that before curling her fingers around the handle. Then she leans back into her knees before reeling her arm back and throwing. The knife cuts through the air for hardly a second before the blade stabs into the wall by Gus' head.

She smiles sweetly. "They're a little weighty. I'd try rebalancing them."

The blacksmith gapes and wheezes. Stunned, he stares and holds his hands in front of him in a shocked sort of defense.

Hiccup loses it. Bent in half with laughter, he stumbles towards her and guides her away from the rest of the knives. Nudging her towards the doorway– and, coincidentally, Gus– he grabs a small pouch hanging on the wall and ties it to his belt. It takes him a few times, he's cackling so hard. But then he knots it and bats at her elbow– "Quick, quick, before he comes to!"

She's not sure why, but she's grinning when Hiccup pushes her outside, throwing a told you so over his shoulder. It's such an odd sound, his sincere and uncontrollable laughter, and hearing it feels almost like another sort of victory. They half-run from the forge until she can't hear what Gus shouts after them. Villagers are staring at them again, this time in bafflement.

"Ah, he's such a cocky ass," he chuckles once he's regained his composure, looking back over his shoulder once or twice. "Always trying to give me advice on women."

"Obviously none of it's helped," she replies, pressing her lips together so he won't notice she's smiling. It makes her cheeks hurt. "You're as charmless as ever."

"I don't need charm. Or all these… rippling pectorals." He gestures towards his body, obviously making a joke of his wiry frame. "I show up to an island with dragons and they throw virgins at me." The way he says it is so casual, so off-handed. It might be the first time he's mentioned it without bitterness in his voice.

"Yeah, well, speaking as your wife, your way with women could use a little work." She watches the way people nod at him as they pass, wonders how well these villagers know him. Not well enough to know his real name, at least. "Maybe then you wouldn't have to kidnap one to put that… thing to use."

He throws his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Don't worry, Astrid. My thing gets plenty of use." Suddenly he's leaning in and whispering in her ear. "With or without your help."

Heat surges to her cheeks, and she shoves him off of her. Just like that, their moment of easy companionship passes, and she hates him again. The comment only reminds her of the aches hidden beneath her skirt, the twinges accompanying every step. She scowls and blushes and tries not to think about his panting as he worked his body over hers the night before.

His air of self-satisfaction is palpable. Astrid seethes, staring straight ahead as he leads her through the village. The urge to tell someone she's being held hostage by a self-absorbed, dragon-loving kidnapper rises. She bites her tongue, though. Keeping her hands balled at her sides, she tries to regain a breezy apathy so that he doesn't think he's won.

The next place he takes her to isn't a part of the main path. It's one of the houses squeezed beyond the bakery and the pub, small and humble. He knocks on the door without formality, as if he's been here several times. It swings open not a minute later, and a middle-aged woman looks him up and down before fisting a hand on her hip and smirking.

"Let me guess," she begins, raising a brow. "You came to pay me back for the last time you came stumbling in drunk off your ass and slept on my floor?" The woman reminds Astrid of her mother a little bit– sturdy, with frizzy hair braided back and a challenge in her eyes.

"Of course," Hiccup scoffs, holding his arms out at his sides. "And while I'm here doing that very thing, I may or may not need a couple of tunics." He glances away a little too casually. "Leggings…" His hand reaches back to rub his neck. "Some undergarments…"

The woman snorts. "Dragon slobber again?"

Astrid startles, eyes widening in surprise. This woman knows about his dragons? What else does she know?

"Not exactly," Hiccup sighs, then drops his hand, tilting his head at her.

For the first time, it seems, the woman notices Astrid standing just barely behind him. Her brows climb high up her forehead. "Interesting," is all she says, then steps out of the doorway to beckon them inside.

She gathers immediately that the woman is a seamstress– bolts of fabric line the walls of her living room, and there's a few items stretched across a work table. Most of her furniture is pushed out of the way, nearly invading the kitchen, and she nudges a step stool towards Astrid with her foot.

"What exactly do you need?" she asks, looking at her as if evaluating her size.

Unsure, the girl lifts her eyes to Hiccup. She's not sure how she feels about this– him buying her clothes. Part of her protests quite violently, livid at his impertinence. The other thinks it's about damn time. She's tired of wearing this stained and poorly adapted gown, these pants that don't fit. She just wishes she didn't have to depend on him for new garments.

He leans against a bare space of wall and shrugs, watching the woman retrieve a measuring tape from a basket. "At least one set in black. Then some spares, I guess. At least another tunic and a couple of pairs of leggings."

It's a little refreshing that the woman doesn't ask questions. They don't have to explain their relationship again. She and Hiccup seem to know each other well, enough to joke casually with each other. The seamstress rummages up a piece of parchment and charcoal, setting both down on the work table and waving Astrid onto the foot stool. After obeying, she apprehensively allows her to stretch the measuring tape across her shoulders.

"I was beginning to think you'd fallen into the ocean," the woman comments as she takes Astrid's measurements, holding the tape between her teeth when she has to pause and scribble down numbers.

"Sorry to disappoint, Herga. Still alive and kicking." He folds his arms over his chest. "Something came up back home. I've been a little busy."

"I can see," she retorts dryly. Her dark eyes flick up to Astrid's face. "Herga, by the way. I'm sure you're acquainted with Horrendous' glaring lack of manners."

"Astrid," she replies, narrowing her gaze. "And I am."

There's a noise from the other side of the house, and then the swish of skirts precedes a young woman's entrance into the room. She's a couple of years older than them, maybe, with shiny brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Her honey-colored eyes widen when she sees Hiccup, and her pretty mouth splits into a wide smile.

"Ren!" she squeals, and Astrid's extremely confused for a beat. The girl gracefully crosses the room without giving her so much as a glance, lacing her arms around Hiccup and giving him a tight hug. He returns the embrace, but his expression seems just a fraction more tense. Astrid notices that his hand rests easily at her lower back when she pulls away. "Where have you been?"

Oh. Ren. As in Horrendous. For some reason, Astrid has to stifle the urge to gag.

"Nowhere interesting," he replies. It's strange, but his tone seems to edge towards uncomfortable. The oddness comes from her ability to notice it, though, not the tone itself. She's becoming used to his speech patterns, the little details of his voice and mannerisms.

"Ingrid," Herga says, handing the young woman her measuring tape. "Finish Astrid's measurements. I need Horrendous to get the black wool down from the storage room." Her gaze slides over to the man in question. "What about the other things? Colors? Fabrics?"

Hiccup glances at Astrid, and she feels her cheeks heat when the girl– Ingrid– turns to look at her too. "I… don't know?" The shake of his head is a little confused. "Just whatever? Blue?"

Herga snorts again, leaving the room and gesturing for him to follow. He does, giving Ingrid another tight smile before disappearing.

The young woman blinks, expression falling just a little. She looks as lost as Astrid feels. Then her gaze slides back to the list of measurements on the table, and she clears her throat, shaking her head. Her bright mood is back. "Hold your arms up for me?"

It's a stiff tension in the air, and Astrid's not sure if she's the only one feeling it. She can hear Hiccup's voice coming from the back of the house, but that's only a small comfort. The stranger touching and measuring her body keeps stealing glances at her face, but neither of them try to make conversation. She wonders if maybe she's been trapped in that mountain so long that she's forgotten how to interact normally with other humans.

"You can step down now," Ingrid informs her after a few last numbers, laying the tape over the work table. She picks up the parchment and scribbles a few notes, back turned to Astrid. "How long have you known Horrendous?"

She blinks at the question, crossing her arms awkwardly and pacing to the other side of the room to pretend to inspect the fabrics. "My whole life, I guess. We grew up in the same village."

The young woman's pitch rises with interest. "Where's that? He doesn't talk about home much."

Not only does she simply not want to answer, she doesn't know how much she's allowed to reveal about Ren. "A little island in the middle of nowhere," she answers, not even sure where Berk is in relation to this place. "And he's not exactly an open book."

Ingrid laughs, the sound bubbly and pleasant. "You can say that again. You're old friends then?"

Astrid purses her lips together. She looks back at the pretty girl who knows nothing about the man who's caught her eye. Really, she wants to warn her away. She knows better than anyone how awful Hiccup is, how insensitive and slimy and cowardly he can be. Give her the chance to run while she still can.

Then from the back of the room, she hears him say, "We're married."

The young woman's shoulders tense, her hand stilling over the parchment. As Hiccup walks in, a thin bolt of black fabric tucked under his arm, she steals a wary glance in Astrid's direction. It doesn't just look disappointed– it looks guilty. But to her credit, she recovers quickly, turning and beaming. "I didn't know you were married, Ren!"

Hiccup exhales a humorless laugh. "You could say our parents arranged it."

Setting down the wool, he unties the pouch from his belt and tugs at the strings. Shaking a couple of silver pieces into his palm, he passes them to Herga, who's followed him into the living room. The woman rolls her eyes and curls his fingers back into his open hand. "Nice try."

"Just take the silver," he grumbles, pushing it back towards her, but she shakes her head and crosses the room.

That flags Astrid's attention. Why won't Herga take his money, when she was the one who'd joked about him paying her back? Everything about these women confuses her, adds ten thousand questions to the collection of curiosities that he never answers. She isn't sure what to say to either of them.

Hiccup sighs, dropping the money back into his purse. "Are you finished?" he asks Astrid, brows raised.

She glances at Ingrid, who suddenly won't meet her eye. "I think so."

"Let's go then." He moves towards the door, tilting his head forward in a commanding gesture. "I still have to work tonight."

Annoyed by his orders, she frowns, but she manages a nod of thank you to Herga and Ingrid before she chases after him. He tosses a farewell over his shoulder and waves, telling them he'll be back later in the week. They both bid him goodbye.

He's quiet as they walk away from the house. Not perturbed, so far as she can tell, but pensive. His fingers wiggle by his sides as he walks, an anxious tell. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. So finally, because she wants to know, she steps in front of him and stops his progress before they reach the main street.

"Why are you buying me clothes?" she asks, narrowing her gaze suspiciously at him.

He raises a single brow, unflappable. "I didn't buy you anything. Herga wouldn't let me."

Astrid gives him a little push. "You know what I mean." Her tongue smooths over her teeth in annoyance, and she cuts her glance to the side. "Did you drag me there so I could see how popular you are with women? To convince me of my dispensability or something? Because if you think last night's softened me any, you're wrong."

Hiccup chuckles disbelievingly, but his flash of a grin disappears as soon as it begins. He frames his hips with his hands, looking down at her. "It is about last night," he tells her. But then he nudges her out of the way with his shoulder, continuing down the path. She just barely hears him mutter, "Bear a wife's duties, you should at least get the benefits."


	9. Astrid IX

**IX.**

If anything, the day spent in Bulg with Hiccup only leaves her with more questions. How he came upon them. Why he stays. How well he knows the blacksmith, the seamstress, the beautiful young woman who brightened at the sight of him. Or rather, how well they know him.

It never occurred to her that he might be leading a double life. Somehow, she assumed that his days began and ended with the dragons. The idea of him interacting with people, having almost normal relationships– it weirds her out. If he's not constantly cold and drunk and sarcastic, what is he? Is he more himself in the forge or in the mountain? Which of his two faces is true?

She watches him as he sways through the tunnels, tripping over himself and leaning against Toothless for support. She listens to his mumblings when he's stretched out on his bed, too dizzy to move. Her eyes linger on his hands as he eats, watching the way his fingers wrap around his fork. Observing, wondering.

"All I'm asking is for you to tell me why you left," she speaks over his ranting. A normal night of arguments and aggravation. "Since I was one of the ones left behind, I think it's fair to say you owe me an explanation!"

"Cause you're a bunch of dragon killers, that's why!" He sits up from his furs, flask in hand as he gestures grandly. "No matter how many times I say it, you still seem to think there's some secret villainous plot against Berk!"

"Because you left your father!" She throws a hand towards the fire, as if Stoick himself is standing there. "You were fourteen, a kid! You're trying to tell me you packed up everything and left overnight because you had the unfortunate burden of graduating first at dragon training?"

"Yes! Why bother asking questions you already know the answer to?"

"Then you're stupider than you look," she spits, leaning back into the curve of the cave wall. "That Nightmare died anyways. I killed it."

Hiccup doesn't snark back at that. He stares for a second, expression set in a dazed kind of glower. Then he stands, starting for the tunnels. "You're disgusting."

"Then send me back to my dragon killers," she hisses.

His flask makes a sharp cracking sound when he throws it against the wall, startling a couple of sleeping dragons and sending them flying. Hiccup turns on his heel, blazing the space between them before she has a chance to recover from the loud noise. His hands grip her upper arms tight and hold her to the wall, but she doesn't even feel fear anymore. Just the thrill of excitement.

"Are you trying to scare me again?" she whispers, beating him to his threat. His eyes glitter dangerously, but her lips tilt up at the edges even so. "Do it. Hit me. Sic your dragons on me." Her heart hammers in her chest, adrenaline searing through her veins. "Come on, Dragon Master, shut me up."

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't move a muscle. He trembles with fury and squeezes her tight, but his jaw is set and hard. The tension in his body leaves him like marble.

"You don't understand… anything," he says through his teeth. Shadows darken his face, and she can feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. His hand gives her a little shake, a slow push against the wall that's too soft to be painful or threatening. "You've lived with dragons for months now and you still don't understand anything about them. Don't understand Berk, don't understand me… Don't understand yourself."

"I know myself just fine," she dares, lifting her chin.

"Just tell me, Astrid." His fingers flutter as he changes the grip on her arms, but he doesn't release her or hold her any more gently. He keeps his voice low and cold. "Why– why is it so important to you that I have some selfish alternative motive? Do you think I would leave my home– my family and all that glory behind– for the simple pleasure of abandoning everyone?"

Mouth tight, she lifts her brows. "Isn't that what you did? Left everyone to the mercy of the dragons you claim are so peaceful?"

"Yeah, that's what I did." His humorless laugh is caught somewhere between a scoff and a confession. "Fourteen years old, without a village or a home. All so I wouldn't have to kill a dragon." After an unsteady exhale, he lowers his hands, but he doesn't put space between them. "Maybe that should tell you something, Astrid. Maybe instead of worrying about me, you should ask yourself what you become when you realize what you've been doing all these years."

For the first time since he grabbed her, he feels uncomfortably close. She backs into the wall in some impossible effort to put another few millimeters between them. "And what's that? What do I become?"

The corner of his lips tilts upwards, but his eyes are cool and distant. "The monster."

* * *

"Toothless, are you seriously going to let this happen?" Hiccup's disbelieving growl is muffled by the way his cheek is smushed into his furs.

Curled up by the fire, the Night Fury makes a disinterested grumbling noise before rolling to his other side. Astrid smirks and pulls tighter on his rider's elbow, making Hiccup squawk in pain. It's a relief to know that even though he might have weight and height against her after five years, she can still get the upper hand and force him into submission.

"Did I not warn you not to bother me while I'm bathing?"

"I don't think those were the words used exactly."

"Did I not tell you what would happen if you interrupted my bath again?"

"Fair enough, but it is my hot spring."

Frowning, she tugs his arm higher. He yelps and squirms beneath her.

"Well, you shouldn't be hiding all my stuff!"

"I don't hide anything. I clean."

Eventually he settles, though not without a fair amount of intoxicated grumbling, and she props up a book on his back to read. She's confiscated his flask in the wrestling match, and she takes a couple swallows of the acrid stuff in smug victory. His butt is a comfy perch for sitting, and once he closes his eyes and falls asleep, she doesn't have to deal with his obnoxious harassment.

She hates to admit it, but sitting with him isn't completely terrible. He doesn't try and make conversation when they both know it'll lead to another argument. He doesn't wave her away from his bed or the fire like she's bothering him by simply occupying his space. Sometimes, though not without some measure of guilt, she feels okay just being comfortable in their cave.

Astrid looks up from the top of her page, eyes wandering over the tome to the arm she's bent backwards and used as a prop. It's not a particularly interesting text– some guide to ship building and sailing– but it's something to do. Its dull content makes it easy to get distracted though, and the arm peeking over the edge is just interesting enough to do the trick.

She slides the book closer, silently examining the long fingers of Hiccup's hand, the faint blue veins in his wrist, the bronze hair along the sides of his forearm. It's a little paler than the other, probably because she's restricted his circulation, and she pokes at it until it falls to his side. Hiccup sniffs and shifts just slightly in his sleep.

Sitting straight, Astrid tilts her head and holds the volume to her torso. There's a faint pink mark intersecting his spine where his arm was pinned. It's just one of the several blotches that mar his skin, the least interesting of the various flaws decorating his back. She's always found his scars so interesting, always wondered about them, but having him so close generally sparks too much irritation in her to want to look at him. While he's unconscious, she can finally get a good look at the various discolorations.

Sighing, she picks up the flask once more and takes a swig. She can taste the courage on her tongue.

The most obvious is the tattoo extending up his side. She outlines each individual dragons scale with a fingertip, wondering why the design was left unfinished. Most of the hexagonal scales are filled in, a flat brownish black, but others are simply outlines. The highest one is placed halfway up his ribs, but the lowest one is hidden beneath his pants. She's seen him in various states of undress, but she's yet to figure out how far exactly the tattoo extends.

Then there's the claw marks that were sliced over his right shoulder, just barely missing his neck. This one has always interested her far more than she wants to admit– the Dragon Master's sweet and tame dragons must not have been so sweet and tame at one time or another. She wonders if it was Toothless, while he was still being trained, or if it was some other beast she hasn't had the opportunity to meet. The wound must have been deep, because it's healed in raised, silvery pink gashes. After a second, she realizes that someone must have had to sew him up, and she can't help but imagine the seamstress' daughter– Ingrid– bent over him with a needle and thread and wandering hands. Astrid runs her thumb over each long scar, unsure herself why she wants to leave her touch on top of that other girl's.

She doesn't mean for it to happen, but her hands start moving idly up and down his back. Dragging light fingertips from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine, massaging the slender muscles of his torso and shoulders. When Hiccup's fingers twitch and he breathes a sigh, she pauses. He might be awake, but she's not sure. And since she doesn't want him to think she's embarrassed or shy, she doesn't stop. She traces every little scar, the rough lines and the reddish patches. She connects the freckles that spray across his shoulders and finds a picture of a rabbit in his several moles.

When she begins trailing her fingers over the spiderweb scar running up his arm, she thinks he might get goosebumps. The soft, tiny hairs rise, and a pattern of bumps erupt across his arms and shoulder blades. This scar is so curious. She's wanted to ask about it for a while, but he usually never answers her questions the way she wants him to. She can't think of a weapon that would cause such a burst of colored lines along the skin or even a dragon that might leave such a unique mark.

"We were struck by lightning," the man beneath her mumbles, not opening his eyes. "Well. I was. Toothless was just burned a little." He adjusts his head against the arm he's using as a pillow. Astrid purses her lips but doesn't cease. "It was stormy and dark, but we were still a couple hours from home."

"The gods must have been angry," she supposes, smoothing her palms down his shoulders. Perhaps they, too, saw Hiccup as an abomination.

He gives a snort. He sounds more awake than he looks. "Lightning doesn't like metal. And there's lots of metal in my saddle."

"Hmm." She doesn't comment. She's never given any thought to storms or where lightning strikes, assuming the gods chose where to unleash their wrath. But after a moment of thought, she recalls seeing scorch marks on the forge more often than anywhere else. Maybe there's some truth to what he says.

Her thumbs find the dimples in his lower back and rub tiny circles around them. For some reason, the more she rubs Hiccup's skin, the warmer hers feels. Every now and then he makes soft grunts or moans that send thrills all the way to her fingertips. They sound so much like the sounds he made when he was sweaty and working over her naked body. Part of her wants to blush, but another part is pleased by the satisfied noises.

He pushes onto one elbow, causing her book to fall to the side. It drops over the edge of the bed and lands open-faced on the stone floor. "Let me up."

Strangely disappointed, she rises to her knees, giving him space to crawl away. Hiccup doesn't slither out from beneath her, though, simply squirms and shifts until he's lying on his back. He won't meet her eyes as he stretches his arms behind his head and jerks his chin at her. For a second, she doesn't understand, but then he flicks his gaze towards her for just a second, and she realizes that he's telling her to continue.

Surprised, she slowly sits back down, though she instantly jolts when she feels the warmth of his groin against her. He's not hard, but she can feel him twitching and stirring. She won't be scared off, though. Cheeks warm, she quietly clears her throat and begins tracing the scales of his tattoo that she couldn't reach before. His chest rises and falls while she inspects them, the faint muscles in his stomach occasionally shuddering and clenching.

"It's everyone I've watched die," he says after a few minutes, looking to the ceiling. Her fingertips pause at the corner of one scale. "The… the ones that are colored in– those are dragons. The ones that are empty are humans."

Astrid's shock makes her gasp, giving away her apathetic facade. What she'd thought was some attempt at an intimidating aesthetic isn't a simple decoration at all. She tries to count the scales she can see– fifteen, sixteen, seventeen– but there's even more beneath the waistband of his pants. Four of them are outlines– four human deaths that Hiccup witnessed.

"So many," she murmurs, touching them with a new reverence. Without thinking, she brushes her fingers over the black ones too, wondering why there are so many more dragon scales than human scales.

"Mm." His eyes drop to her face. She doesn't meet his gaze, but she can feel it lingering on her face. "I've been busy."

That makes her breath hitch. Her hand hovers above his abdomen. "Did you kill any of them?"

Hiccup's exhale sounds heavy and burdened. Reaching towards her, he curls his fingers around hers and drags them to a spot on his hip. A black scale. "He was going to hurt someone. I couldn't get him to snap out of it." He pulls her to another black patch closer to the trail of hair leading down from his navel. "She had a spear shoved through her belly and was bleeding out. There was nothing we could do." For a second, he holds her there, but then he brings her hand to a spot on his ribs. An empty scale. "He had Toothless under his axe."

All of the air rushes out of her lungs. Her brows go high, her lips parting but not tasting like words. Hiccup's killed a man before. For all her fighting and defending, that's something Astrid can't even claim. Hiccup killed for his dragon. Killed a man for his dragon, but won't kill dragons for his people.

"Most of them are old age or natural causes, though," he says quickly and softly, releasing her fingers. "It's not all from violence."

Her hand wavers just above the empty scale. She's not sure what to say. After a moment, she presses her palm to the tattoo. Covers it. She keeps it concealed as she moves on, touching the mauling marks at his neck. More of his lightning scar. Some faintly discolored blots on his side that look like burns. Her thumb glides over the scoop of every rib, her knuckles following the patch of dark hair from his skinny chest all the way down his torso. It thins between his ribs but then thickens again past his belly button, disappearing under the laces of his pants with his tattoo. When her touch ghosts the edge of his waistband, she feels him throb between her thighs.

Finally pulling away from that outline, that empty scale, her hands hesitate between his skinny hipbones. But she wants to see more, to discover how far those tattoos extend. So, swallowing hard, she unties his laces with shaking fingers. With every thudding heartbeat, every nervous breath, she can feel him growing, hardening. She thinks about that night, about the sharp stabbing and the dull aches and the bruises and bite marks he left on her skin. There were moments that felt nice, especially after he'd woken her to play with her still-raw flesh, but most of what she recalls is rough and painful.

Still, she tugs his pants down, rises to her knees so she can peel the tight fabric away. He helps her, lifting his hips and reaching around her to push them lower. It's not until they're almost to his knees that she finds the edge of his scales. They reach halfway down his thigh, and she has to twist almost completely around her to touch each one. Still mostly black. A couple more outlines.

Her gaze lifts to his. As always, his features are hard and his eyes are closed off. But now that she knows what these scales mean, she can't help but wonder what he keeps hidden behind his drunken behavior and his cold exterior. So much death. Blood and iron and sickness.

Maybe it's the few sips of alcohol in her veins, or maybe it's the thought of skinny fourteen year-old Hiccup with scarlet spattered across his frightened face. Whatever it is, it makes her lean over and press her lips to each raised claw mark on his shoulder. His exhale shakes. Then she switches sides, holding her hair behind her ear as she brushes her mouth over the peak of his lightning scar. She follows it down his upper arm and into the crook of his elbow. By the time she reaches his inner forearm, his hand knots in her hair and pulls her face to his.

Warmth melts through her body, making her knees tighten at his sides. He teases her tongue from her mouth with his own, and her half-moan is embarrassing. His sweltering length bobs and twitches against her lower stomach, hot even through the fabric of her leggings. She remembers what that felt like tearing through her, and she flinches. Astrid pushes away, staring at his heated gaze before shaking her head and sitting up.

She crawls off of him, shaking and aroused and a little inexplicably irritated. He doesn't try to stop her or ask her why, but as she walks bare-footed towards her own furs, he says, "It doesn't have to hurt."

Astrid pauses, arms hugging herself, and she steps back just enough so she can look at him. He's pushed up onto one elbow, but he's not looking at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't even have to touch you," he informs her, voice a little stiff and awkward. "I won't. It won't hurt."

She wants to reply, but her lips part and she can't think of a thing to say. Her eyes cut back to that part of him– his cock, in Snotlout's pretty words– and wets her lips. When she speaks next, it's almost a challenge. "And how are you supposed to fuck me without touching me?"

He must hear the note of reluctant interest in her tone, because he lets his gaze rise to her face. Hiccup nods to where she'd just been sitting. "Just like you were. Just like this."

Astrid wishes her heart wasn't racing. She remembers standing in the Great Hall when Stoick announced that the council had decided on a virgin sacrifice, the way dozens of pairs of eyes had turned to her and Ruffnut. The rush of her mothers breath at her ear while she explained the intimacies of marital relations later that night. Things she knew in vague, uncertain ideas becoming all at once very clear. Wifely duties, obedience, submission. Lying on one's back while the husband satisfies himself above and inside. She'd wanted to vomit. So when the marriage proposals came in the next day, she vehemently refused.

She didn't know it could work like this. Not trapped underneath or at the mercy of strong hands. Gnawing at the inside of her cheek, she hesitates and considers the electric current running through her body. As if the lightning that struck him still lingers in his skin and traveled through her fingertips.

Then, setting her jaw, she reaches beneath the pleats of her skirt and shoves her thumbs inside the waistband of her leggings. Tugging them down, she nearly stumbles trying to pull them off of her calves and feet. Ignoring the goosebumps that break along her bare legs, she steps back towards his bed and waits for just a second. His fingers beckon, encouraging, and she pushes herself back onto the furs and crawls onto his lap.

It's already different. This time, she's almost fully dressed, and she's the one in the position of power. Showing her his open hands, he lowers them both to his sides. Keeping his word not to touch her. Astrid blushes, but clears her throat and shifts on her knees. "What– what do I do?"

Hiccup gives her a tiny shake of his head, just barely shrugging. "Whatever you want."

The fire pops and hisses in the silence that ensues. She drags her eyes down his bare torso, chewing at her lip uncertainly. Her bindings feel tight as she tries to take deep breaths. He doesn't say anything or push her, just stares and waits with his fingers tapping restlessly next to him.

Astrid presses her hands to his shoulders, rubbing just a little bit to feel his scars. Then she slides them lower, over his chest. He breathes just as unsteadily as her, but his expression doesn't betray a shred of unease. As she passes each scar, she retraces it with her mouth. His skin is warm and painted with shadows. He tastes like sweat.

She's curious about his tattoo, so she scrubs at it with her thumb to see if the color will distort. It doesn't. She drags a nail over one of the black scales to see if ink will come off on her. It doesn't. Then she scoots back, leaning over to see if it feels any different than the rest of him on her tongue.

"Hnn–" Hiccup's hands ball into fists. He exhales hard. That same intoxicating pleasure writhes in the pit of her stomach at the sound of it. A small victory, in a way. An addicting punishment. She drags the flat of her tongue over each scale, listening to every groan and gasp with relish.

Her uncertainty returns when she wraps her hand around his length, though. The way he grinds his teeth is rewarding, but she's wary. She didn't have a chance to look closely several nights ago, so she takes it now. It's not as long or as thick as it felt when he forced it inside her, but it's still larger than she'd been led to expect by Ruffnut's lewd stories. The curls surrounding the base are thick and dark, matching the bronze color of his hair. He's thickest there, and then it tapers just slightly along the shaft, ending in a pinkish mushroom-shaped head. For as soft as it sometimes feels, the flesh beneath the silky skin could be a metal rod from the forge.

Hiccup starts to say something several times, but before he even finishes the first words, he keeps biting down and resisting. She notices that if she squeezes, he inhales sharply, and while that rouses her interest, she's self conscious of her inexperience. She's sure women like the seamstress' daughter know all sorts of ways to pleasure men like him, but Astrid's pride won't let her ask him how to perform such services. So she just inspects and strokes, watching how it jumps and twitches and responds to her hands.

Her own wet arousal becomes distracting. Occasionally while he sleeps, she finds her hand wandering that way to try and mimic the things Hiccup did to her there. It's never the same, though, her fingers too clumsy and lost. And she's always worried he'll wake up and catch her in the act. But she can't deny that her body responds to him, and having him at her mercy only doubles that desire. She rises up on her knees just a little to slide his cock through the slick folds beneath her skirt, and Hiccup's hips nearly dismount her.

Astrid shoots him a glare. He tries to return the annoyed glance, but the expression is hampered by the almost dazed look in his eyes.

Licking her lips, she tries to redirect her focus again. She grips him carefully and grinds against his shaft until the smooth head nudges something that makes her pant. The furs rustle, and she watches Hiccup lift his hand– then quickly put it back down. She tries to pinpoint that spot, to find it with every stroke, but its pleasure is elusive. Then on one downward stroke, she miscalculates. The tip of him slips– pushes– and then she and Hiccup both are making weak noises of shock.

And he's right. It doesn't hurt. He lets his head fall back, eyes screwed shut and a whispered swear on his lips. Whimpering just a little, she eases back, but her body cries out at the loss. So instead, she moves her hand to his stomach for balance and carefully impales herself on his cock.

It's that same full feeling, those same few moments of bliss. But it's missing the lingering sting, the unfamiliar cramping. She tries to locate those muscles, to see if the ache will reappear if she clenches them. But the only ache she feels is a sudden friction when Hiccup surges into her with a bitten off groan. Leaning against his torso, she lifts her hips. Her jaw drops at the sensation of his flesh sliding against hers, and she slowly eases herself back down. It's not as satisfying as the first time, but it still makes her whole body shudder in ecstasy.

It's an awkward few moments of trying to find an angle that works for her, a rhythm that feels right. Beneath her, Hiccup is patient, but she can tell it's becoming harder for him to stay still. It's not just his hands wanting to move of their own will now– his hips want to rise off the furs, and his legs writhe restlessly behind her. He pants, cussing and whispering things under her breath that she can't make out. When she finds that if she leans over onto one elbow and uses her back to make her hips effortlessly rise and fall, he gasps, "Gods–" and grabs hold of her sides. Just as quickly, though, he forces his hands to either side of his head.

She wonders if this is what it's supposed to feel like every time. This all-consuming, body-shaking, shivering and swelling pleasure. Maybe her first time was simply the discomfort of deflowering. Maybe he was so rough last time that all the enjoyment was lost in the clawing spite. Maybe she's better at this than him. She's not sure, but before long, her palms are searching out his scars, and her mouth is laving open-mouthed kisses against his throat between strained breaths. Hiccup hisses her name in her ear, and for a brief moment, she misses his bruising hands on her thighs.

She thinks of the moments afterward, how he'd brought her to that shimmering peak. She wants that, and she already feels like she can just see the edge of it, but she also thinks of it as a sort of mercy he gave her. One that maybe she should bestow upon him.

Her hand clamps down on his wrist, then pulls him beneath the leather pleats of her skirt. "Touch me," she commands, lips at his collarbone. He wastes no time in sweeping through her wet heat, finding that nub that feels so good to touch. His other hand splays between her shoulder blades, holding her body close to his.

"I said I wasn't going to do this again," he says to himself, his admission sounding a little bitter. His panting rustles her half-tied hair.

"You're not," she replies, crying out when he circles swollen flesh. "I am."

It doesn't take him long to use his fingers to stroke her to completion. Her body works above him until it can't, clenching and fighting against the crashing waves of rapture. Ecstasy grips her tight, makes her shake and convulse, and while she's frozen, he keeps pushing in and out of her. It's so much better than before. Better, even, than the sleepy climax he gave her the first time.

When she goes slack, he wraps his arm around her lower back and puts a hand on her ass. For a moment, she can hardly breathe as he thrusts and grunts her name. Then his nails dig into her clothes, and he moans against her temple. She can feel him pulsing inside her. It's so fascinating that for a second, she can only blink and rest her head in the crook of his neck.

Astrid almost expects him to push her off after he finishes, but he doesn't. The hand that's on the small of her back stays, while his other arm falls limply to the side. His breathing is ragged and hoarse. They both drip with sweat.

"You don't have to move," he says once he's caught his breath.

She nods and taps her thumb on his lightning-struck shoulder. "I wasn't planning on it."

* * *

"It's morning. Morning is my bath time, and night is your bath time!" Astrid glowers at the dragon rider lazily stripping out of his clothes from the night before. "You could have washed off before you went to bed, but you didn't. Sucks for you!"

"It's my hot spring," he asserts for what must be the thousandth time. His shirt hits the ground next to the growing pile of his clothes. "What does it matter anyways? It's not like I don't know what you look like."

"It's a matter of courtesy!" she shrieks. She has one arm wrapped across her chest, guarding her breasts, while her free hand covers the curls at the apex of her thighs. "Just because you've seen it doesn't mean you can look at it whenever you want."

Hiccup shrugs one shoulder, nodding his head. "Makes sense. Except it's still my island. My mountain. My water." He steps out of his pants and leans over to splash his face as he wades into the spring. "My wife. We've been through this."

Astrid growls, gritting her teeth. Half of her wants to snatch her towel off the shore and stomp back to the main room, but the other half won't let her be chased off again. "Get out!"

"No."

"Hiccup!"

He cups water in his palms and wets his shoulders and chest, washing off the dust from the night before. Not looking away from her snarling face, he steps closer. "Astrid."

"I swear to Frigga, I'm going to strangle you in your sleep!"

He takes her by the elbow, dragging her near, but she won't drop her arm to stop him. He secures her against his warm frame and chuckles at the back of her neck. "I vote we share."

And then his hand is slapping hers away, and she loses her argument somewhere in the water.


	10. Astrid X

**X.**

Her hands tremble as they skate over his back, hovering just a breath above his skin. Sweat drips from his hair down his temples, pools in the hollow of her throat and mists over their bodies. Their panting echoes off rock walls. He holds her stare with a clenched jaw, and no matter how much she tries biting down on her lower lip, her traitorous mouth continues to spill with helpless moans.

She's not sure how it started this time. Maybe it was a scoffed comment about her cooking, her body, anything. Maybe she'd muttered something about him finishing without her the last time. Her thoughts are so incomprehensible, scattered by every steady rock of his hips into hers. She's stopped keeping track of the offenses that lead to their spiteful, dirty fucking.

And that's the word she's chosen for it. Because the terms her mother used– intercourse, marital duties– seem too technical. Hollow, clean-sounding things that don't quite parallel the things they do to each other. Good housewives don't leave bite marks, bruises, red splotches on their husbands. She's not sure what a good husband is supposed to do, but she's quite sure it doesn't include shoving his hand over his wife's mouth because he hates the sound of her voice.

And making love? Please.

Hiccup pulls back, out of her reach, and his hands part her thighs wider– pushes them higher. The new depths make her arch and dig her fingers in the furs.

She's pretty sure he likes her like this best. Speechless and undressed, pleading for more, deeper, faster. Shyness boiled out of her blood long ago. It's not just the fact that he seems to care somewhat about her pleasure– she thinks he likes her best when she's whimpering because he's learned how to subdue her. Sometimes she'll still grit her teeth against the begging, just because she knows that'll push him to thrust harder and touch more. Whatever it takes to make his name jump to her lips like a swear.

It might bother her, if she couldn't do the same. Climb onto his lap and grind against him until he's hard and breathing heavily. Tease him with the heat of her melting sex until his hips are lifting and searching for her mercy. The seductive quality of their sinful trysts isn't how much they want each other, but how well they can drive the other one to depraved need after even the worst fight. It's the power struggle, the fight for dominance. But even losing is tolerable, because fucking with Hiccup is always more take than give.

"You're gonna come first," he hisses, almost a threat. So it had been her comment about his failure to finish his task. Now it's not just a challenge for him, but a matter of pride. How badly she wants to wound that pride.

Astrid shakes her head. Wets her lips. "I'm not even close."

Pressing her knees almost to her shoulders, he bears his weight against her. Her jaw drops, but her cry, thankfully, is silent. Dark hair almost tickles her face. "Then why do you keep closing your eyes?"

She blinks, realizing she'd let them fall shut again. With a glare, she balls her hands into fists. "Falling asleep, is all."

He smirks with an awful smugness. "Keep them open, then. Or I might get the wrong impression."

She quickly discovers how hard it is to look him in the eye while she's shuddering around his cock.

* * *

"…and it connects to the pedal here. That way I can take off the saddle but leave the fin on."

Astrid really isn't as concerned about the inner workings of Toothless' tailfin rig as she probably should be. Tampering with the pulley system would probably be a great way to sabotage him. Cause some major injuries, if not send him flying straight into a cliff. She's uninterested, though. He talks on a plane above her head, throwing around physics and aerodynamics and elasticity and whatnot.

"And you made this when you were fourteen?" she asks skeptically. Her view of him is upside down– her head hangs off the edge of his bed, blonde curls pooled on the floor beneath her. She has a hatchling– or is it a normal sized Terror?– curled up and purring on her bare stomach. She pets its warm, dry scales as she watches Hiccup play with the whole saddle set-up.

"Well– not this one exactly." He scratches the back of his neck, sitting up and tapping his wrench on Toothless' tail. The Night Fury gives a huff of annoyance and then sets his head back down. "This one's been modified so that he can fly without me in an emergency."

That answers some of her questions about how he gets home when he's hammered.

"But yeah," he goes on, hands returning to their tweaking. "I worked in the forge, remember. And Dad and them were off on a search, so there wasn't much to do after dragon training."

Astrid rubs her thumb in circles on the dragon's forehead. "I'm still pissed I didn't figure it out."

He chuckles. "Milady, you get pissed at just about everything I do."

"True." She tries to scrounge up her memories of her fourteenth year, something she's found herself doing often since coming to live with Hiccup. It seems so long ago, like another life. She forgets things, until he mentions them and suddenly she's recalling details with stunning clarity. Like the fact that he worked in the forge– she'd forgotten until he took her to the smithy on Bulg. Then she all at once could picture skinny Hiccup eternally covered in soot and clamoring about his newest invention.

At first, she thought that they remembered things very differently. In her memory, he was the chief's only beloved son, the top student in dragon training. He was the boy who surpassed her, the one who stole her place at head of the class. A warm kid with some annoying quirks. She remembered all that sincerely, had forgotten how suspicious she'd been of him. But the more and more he reminds her, the more she recollects him how he really was.

She's starting to remember how Snotlout and the others tore into him for every mistake he made. How selfishly Hiccup ran around the village, causing chaos wherever he went. How he watched her with admiring eyes, and how it frustrated her that he never seemed to carry the burden that she and the rest of the villagers carried. She's starting to remember the thick-skinned boy that ate alone and was never invited to their secret hunts in the woods after dark.

"So, why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?" Her hands rest on the sleeping dragon atop her belly. "If the bola launcher worked– wasn't the whole point to prove yourself?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Hiccup says almost to himself. He shrugs one shoulder without looking up from the foot pedal. "First Viking in a thousand years who wouldn't kill a dragon."

She nods, gravity making the action a little more difficult. "First to ride one, though."

He pauses. His hands go still on the various parts of the rig. Then, slowly, he begins working again. "I think at first it was the ropes." Even though his bare back is to her and he can't be sure she's watching, he reaches over to point out a scar on the dragon's chest. "He was tied up, injured, probably sleep deprived. I dunno, it just seemed cruel to kill a creature that couldn't run or fight back."

She makes a noise of dissent. "He certainly didn't feel that way about the men on the towers he blew up."

"The ones throwing bolas and shooting arrows?" he retorts. Snorting, he shakes his head. "Even after I let him go, he just roared in my face and tried to fly off. He could've killed me– all I had was my knife. But that's when I figured out that dragons have honor too. I cut him loose, so he let me live."

Dragons with honor. What a notion. Letting her gaze roll over to Toothless' face, she wonders what other reason he might have had for not eating the wimpy teenager. Toothache? Pressing dinner appointment?

"The more I stuck around him, the less terrifying the dragons seemed. They've got their fears and their weaknesses too, and being around Toothless, I got to see them."

That piqued her curiosity. "Like what?"

"Like–" He started to tell her, but then caught himself, looking over his shoulder with a withering glance. "Like I'm going to tell you."

Sighing, she rolled her eyes.

"Anyways," he continued. "I know you don't believe me, but they don't attack cause they want to. There's a queen that they feed. She controls them. She makes them do the bad stuff."

It's not the first time he's explained this theory to her. "And the bees only sting when you threaten the queen." She lets her arms fall over the edge of the bed. "That doesn't change the fact that they're bees and they sting. They hurt people."

"Or maybe we're the bees." Hiccup looks up abruptly, frowning. His stare pins her in place. "They only come for the honey anyways."

For several minutes, she doesn't know what to say. He turns back to his adjustments, and she stares at the muscles in his back moving as he works. That's happening more often than not, lately. They start perfectly casual conversations– real progress, where their relationship is concerned. But then one of them brings up Berk and he fixes her with a sharp comment. And she sits there, stunned and speechless.

Stung.

* * *

If she lived on Bulg, she might lose her mind. Not because of the small size of the village– especially considering where she grew up– or because of the strange looks she gets from every person they pass. But if she lived on this island and had to listen to the sound of the blacksmith working even at ungodly hours of the night, she might bludgeon him to death with his own hammer.

Lucky for her husband, though, and consequently her, nobody shows up at the forge to beat Hiccup senseless. It's almost eerily calm. Except for the clanging of his tools, of course. It's strange to be within several yards of so many people while it's so quiet. She's gotten used to the background noises of dragons breathing, chittering, snoring.

"Why does everyone watch you wherever you go?" She can't help asking. The various weaponry around the walls and counters had entertained her for a while, but the hours are passing and she's getting tired.

Hiccup pauses after a couple of swings to wipe his face on his sleeve and shrug. "I dunno. I guess any guy who shows up out of the blue is weird. I don't talk much about where I'm from."

Narrowing her gaze, she clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth. "I think it's something else. Like– where do they think you live?"

"In the woods," he replies promptly. Taking a swig of the water skin hanging off the workbench, he coughs and bangs his palm against his chest. "Where else? That's where I leave Toothless, and that's where I show up every other night."

She snorts and traces the grain of the wooden table. "Maybe you should put more effort into your cover, Ren. Herga and Ingrid seem to already know about the dragons– the rest of the village can't be far behind."

Still trying to force water out of his windpipe, he gives her an annoyed glance. "Nobody asks questions. Nobody spreads rumors. People stare and wonder, and that's about it. That's why I like it here."

The sound of crunching gravel makes their gazes slip to the doorway, and then there's the glow of someone's lamp. An unfamiliar man steps inside, and Astrid thinks– this is it. Someone's coming to kill the insomniac blacksmith.

But Hiccup doesn't seem surprised or alarmed. He half turns to set down his hammer and then jerks his chin as a way of greeting. "Fiske. Hey."

The man is older– closer to her parents' age than her own. He's tall and burly, with a closely trimmed beard and dark hair that's streaked with silver. He seems to take a deep breath at the sight of them, shoulders settling. "I was looking for you," he said with an almost awkward clearing of his throat. "You haven't been around in a few days. Was wondering if you'd gotten yourself into trouble."

"No more than usual," Hiccup answers with a slight grin. He pulls off one glove and waves in her direction. "This is my wife. Astrid."

Fiske's eyebrows lift, but not as much as she's come to expect from that introduction. He nods respectfully, and she returns the gesture. "Horrendous has mentioned you a few times," he informs her. "Pleasure to put a face to the name."

Her head whips to stare at Hiccup. "You told him about me?"

The blacksmith is suddenly consumed by another coughing fit. "In passing."

"I tend the bar," Fiske tells her, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "I hear a lot of things in passing."

"Fiske," Hiccup hisses, giving the other man some look that she can't interpret. The tiny shake of his head, though, she gets. "I'm not dead or in prison– don't you have drinks to pour?"

Chuckling, he nods and smiles at the floor. "Sure, Horrendous." He starts to back out of the doorway, and then he adds, "There's food left over from dinner if either of you are hungry."

Astrid straightens at the mention of food, but then quickly tries to temper her reaction. Her stomach has been growling for a while, but while she's not ashamed to annoy Hiccup for a meal, strangers are different. She looks at her husband and gives him a questioning glance.

Hiccup's already started putting his glove back on, but at her expression, he blinks and pauses. Like a deer caught at the other end of a bow. After a second, he seems to find his words and shifts his gaze to Fiske. "Ah– um, can you go ahead and take Astrid with you? I'll be there after I finish this order."

She tries not to beam. Maybe he hasn't quite picked up on telepathy, but perhaps he can actually remember that other human beings need more than whatever he keeps in his flask to survive.

The older man grunts an affirmative, beckoning forward with his fingers. She wonders faintly if she should be concerned about wandering through the village in the wee hours of morning with a stranger, but Hiccup seems to trust him. And he did come looking for "Horrendous" because he was concerned for his safety. So, she doesn't hesitate, slipping down from the stool she was perched upon and goes to his side. She wonders what she should say to Hiccup– whether she should make some wifely comment as she departs– but he's already turned and picked up his hammer once more.

Fiske turns out to be a quiet, stoic man. He doesn't try and make conversation as they walk through the dark night, though he does stay close and make sure to shine the lamp on her path so she can see. He's the silent type, and though that might work for Hiccup, who's surly and sarcastic, she can't take it. She needs human interaction.

"So, are you and Horrendous friends?" she asks, testing the waters. Astrid keeps her hands clasped behind her back as she walks, playing the role of the tame and domestic housewife.

His expression tells her that friend doesn't quite ring right. His mouth quirks. "I guess you could say we look out for each other. He's a regular, so I see him pretty often. Often enough that I get concerned when I don't see him."

She nods slowly. Weirdly enough, she knows exactly what he means. "He's hard to get to know, I guess."

Fiske doesn't reply.

After another couple of paces filled with silence, she tries again. "He's friends with the seamstress and her daughter. And he gets along with Gus." She wonders suddenly if she was sent along with Fiske so that Hiccup could sneak away to see Ingrid. But she quickly shakes her head of that bizarre thought. "Everyone I've met here seems to be really friendly, actually."

The older gentleman is quiet, almost stony. She starts to think that maybe he doesn't like her, that maybe he's being intentionally rude, but then the corner of his lips pull upwards. "Nobody on this island is in the dark about what your husband's up to."

A thrill of alarm skitters up her spine. Her steps almost falter, but then she catches herself. "I don't know what you're referring to." The words sound false and stilted even to her.

Fiske laughs, a real and true laugh. "You too?" After another chuckle, he says, "Horrendous wants to pretend like he's just an alcoholic hermit, like he's not strange in every sense of the word. Everybody knows, though. Everyone."

Astrid doesn't answer right away. She doesn't want to accidentally give away Hiccup's identity by jumping to conclusions. That'd just give him one more thing for him to bark at her about. They approach a building she remembers passing before, one of the only places with lights still in the windows.

"What does everyone know?" she challenges, lifting her chin just a fraction.

Fiske reaches out to open the door for her, and they step into the warm bar. There's only one patron in the back nursing a mug, but there's a healthy fire crackling in the hearth and a pot of something delicious smelling sitting next to it. He escorts her in, leading her to a small table and setting down the lamp. For a second, he ducks behind the bar, but then he reappears with a bowl and a spoon in his hand.

"Everyone knows that Horrendous isn't the wayfaring stranger he wants to be," Fiske finally tells her as he serves her. The pot is half full with a thick stew that makes her mouth water just to catch a whiff of. She's not a good cook, and living in the mountain doesn't give her many ingredients to work with. She's very aware of how pitiful her meals are. When Fiske sets the bowl down in front of her and gestures for her to eat, she thinks she might have to physically restrain herself.

She stares at him, making it clear– difficult as it is– that she won't take a bite until he continues. So he does.

"We know about the Night Fury," Fiske confesses low, so that the other person in the room doesn't overhear. Shaking his head, he takes the seat across from her and leans his forearm on the table. "We know what he does. How he distracts the dragons." He raps his knuckles on the wood. "Don't know how he does it, but there hasn't been one dragon-related injury or death since The Phantom showed up."

"The Phantom?" she breathes. She'd picked up her spoon and started inhaling her stew, but she pauses in her unladylike feasting to meet his wry gaze.

"And," Fiske continues, "The Phantom's never showed himself until Horrendous came to the island."

Part of her wants to shove an I told you so in Hiccup's face, but the other part of her is stunned. Almost too stunned to speak. "We called him the Dragon Master, where I'm from."

He shrugs casually. "Either way."

Astrid blinks, sitting up and pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "I didn't realize he did it for this place too."

With a nod, he leans back. The chair creaks beneath him. "Horrendous is the best thing that 's happened to this village in years. Not only did he step in and take over the forge when Halstuck died, he's been keeping the dragons in line at every raid. The dragons still come, 'course, but they take what they want and they leave. No one gets hurt, nothing gets destroyed."

She furrows her brow at her bowl, chews slowly as she stirs her food. "He doesn't know that you know."

Fiske chuckles again. "He's an odd guy. Won't lie, if it weren't for everything he does for this village, I'd've thrown him out of my bar years ago." That almost doesn't surprise her. Astrid wonders if Fiske is the one who supplies Hiccup with all his foul-tasting needs. "Got a lot of weight on his shoulders. Bad attitude sometimes. Doesn't open up about much… 'cept you, lately."

"Me?" she suddenly blurts a little too loudly. She almost spills her stew across the table.

"Oh, yeah," he nods, dark eyes gleaming. "Plenty about his pretty new wife."

Her heart, for some reason, starts to patter a little quicker. She wonders if that's a blush rising to her cheeks or if that warmth is just from sitting so close to the hearth. "What does he say about me?"

For a long minute, Fiske just stares. His mouth twitches, as if he's holding back a grin, and his gaze glitters with some secret that she wants to suddenly choke out of him. Is she what comes to Hiccup's mind when he's drunk and spilling his secrets to his bartender? Does Fiske also know about their relationship– the things that are fake and the things that are so very, very real?

He must see the anxiety in her face, because he cracks, snickering and folding his arms over his chest. "He really really hates you."

For some reason, his answer both soothes and disappoints. She straightens, lips moving aimlessly before she manages to reply, "Well, the feeling's mutual."

Fiske nods, looks over his shoulder towards a door behind the bar. Then he turns back to her and tilts his head thoughtfully. "Hasn't been here in almost a week, though." His gaze drops to her half-empty bowl. "That's got to count for something."

The door to the bar suddenly creaks open, and Hiccup steps inside, pulling his sweaty shirt away from his skin. His gaze scans the room for a second before falling on their table. He hasn't even sat down before he's stealing her food and shoveling it into his mouth. After several large bites, he sets the nearly empty bowl back in front of her and stretches his arm around her shoulders. "Fiske. Less flirting with my wife. More getting me a drink."

"You got it, Horrendous." The older man flashes one last glance at her– secretive and amused– before pushing away from the table and striding over to the bar.

Hiccup leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "He's not really hitting on you," he whispers. "He's a huge family man."

"Good," she hears herself mumble, though her eyes haven't moved away from the burly barkeep. "I'm a married woman."

* * *

Days later, she's roused in the middle of the night by hands yanking at her furs. At first, she just groans and pulls them back, thinking it's one of the more playful dragons wanting attention. But then they're torn from her, and she feels an arm force it's way under her stomach.

"Up," Hiccup commands under his breath. "Up. On your knees."

Instantly, her pulse races, and she feels her mind stir a little clearer. Half following orders, half being tugged into place by firm hands, she mumbles his name in question and pulls her legs under her.

He doesn't say anything or answer. He roughly shoves her furs aside, jerks her hips up until her ass is displayed at an appropriate height. Then his hands are clawing beneath her skirt, searching for the waistband of her leggings. Tearing them down with her underwear, he fumbles clumsily until he finds the knot of nerves within her curls. His breath is harsh when he leans over her, waking her with roughly stolen pleasure. She gasps another question, looks back to see his dark expression, but when he catches her glance, he holds her ponytail by the base and forces her head forward.

She's at a loss for words. He only touches her for a few minutes– all pinching and pulling and scratching. Then she hears the sound of his belt buckle, the rustling of his pants. He fills her before she's quite wet enough for him, and while it's uncomfortable, the savageness of it all makes her guiltily moan into the underside of her forearm.

It's not completely unusual. Not the first time they've woken one another for sex. She'd fallen asleep waiting up for him– he returned later than usual. He'd probably been anticipating her being awake and ready for him. His mood is a little off, though. Even through their haze of desire and despise, there's always an undercurrent of understanding. If she says stop, she always knows he will. She never has to worry about him forcing anything or hurting her.

Astrid doesn't open her mouth. Doesn't tell him that the angle of her neck is discomforting and he's making her nervous. But she wonders if she asked him to stop, if he would.

He's unyielding and unrelenting. She pushes and grips at the fur and floor beneath her, trying to find some hold against the force of his thrusts. Her knees quickly begin to ache, and some of his strokes are slamming into something inside her that answers with a sharp pain. She savors it, though, feels herself clenching around him. Even though she's just barely awake, she feels her sex growing wetter and slicker with every slap of his skin against hers.

Hiccup leans over her, presses his chest into her back as he gropes for her breasts beneath her shirt and bindings. She whimpers, feeling his warmth above her, around her, inside her. When she can, she presses back into him, meeting him for every merciless shove. Her back arches, her toes curling tight. He's beneath her shirt, tearing at her bindings with little to no avail. No matter what calm and easygoing Hiccup she might know by the light of day, this is a new and exciting– but frightening– facet of him.

He plays with her dripping flesh, makes her legs almost give out on her. "Come," he snaps close to her ear. "Come already, dammit."

She's not sure why she does. She's made it a part of her daily life to refuse every command he gives her. But with those spiteful words, her entire body clenches, and she cries out as he continues ramming her through wave and wave of ecstasy. It's a little painful and not quite perfect, but her orgasm steals her breath, makes her claw at the stone beneath her in an attempt to hold onto something steady.

Astrid thinks she feels the relief in him as soon as her muscles go slack. He tightens his arm around her waist, presses his forehead into the back of her shoulder. Then he's swearing angrily against her, his fingers digging into her side and his hipbones bruising her ass. A few hasty strokes later, and he's holding her to him like it might take a weapon forged by the gods to separate them. He throbs and pulses, groaning quietly as he leaves his warm and slippery release inside her.

She catches her breath as she waits for him to loosen his too-tight hold on her, for him to let her go so they can fix their clothes and fall asleep exhausted but satiated. But he doesn't move, doesn't relax his arm. Almost too low for her to hear, his breath hitches.

"Hiccup?" She pushes up onto rubbery arms, pulling at his wrist, but he doesn't release her. The shaky exhale he breathes between her shoulder blades only sharpens her concern. She sits up as best she can, trying to pry his arm off, pulling at his fingers. She feels something wet on her palm, and when she brings her hand back, blood is smeared across her skin.

Panic makes old instincts flare. She digs her nails into him, wrenching free and twisting so she can face him. Hiccup glowers towards the fire, not meeting her gaze, but the tendons of his neck are twitching and his eyes are ringed with red.

Astrid feels something strange squeeze in her chest. She lifts trembling fingers to his face, holds his jaw so she can turn his head this way and that. "Are you hurt? What happened?" When she brings the hand that had been restraining her to the light, she can see that his knuckles are skinned and swollen. "Who were you fighting? Where were you?"

Hiccup swallows hard, pulling his face away from her grasp. "Berk," he rasps hatefully, shaking his head a little. She doesn't know how to reply, so she just watches him. Under her gaze, his chin begins to wobble. He sniffs and clenches his hand into a fist. "No right– he has no right."

For the first time since seeing him again after seven years, she sees him blink away tears. She's made some pretty evil comments, even thrown a few blows, but she's never witnessed even a glimpse of a man that feels pain. It's even scarier than the rough way he just handled her, more frightening than any of the dragons milling uneasily around the cave. She adjusts her clothes and climbs onto his lap, taking her head in his hands just in time for his features to collapse completely. He doesn't sob, doesn't cry like she thinks he wants to. But he hides his face in her shoulder, gasping for air and coughing on the tears he can't force down.

Shock makes it hard for her to form words. She makes stunned little hushing noises and slowly runs her fingers through his hair, but seeing this emotion from Hiccup is disconcerting. Until he settles, though, she hugs him and tries to soothe him. He holds her waist, occasionally hitting the wall and making her jump. The hands that dug into her flesh just moments ago now rest so lightly on the curves of her sides.

"It's okay," she murmurs, kissing his hair and rubbing his back. "You're okay. I'm here." He shakes in her arms like he's never spent a day of his life without her.

The next day, when he comes home late, he's drunk. And on his back is a new, red and tender outline of a dragon scale.


	11. Hiccup XI

**XI.**

Astrid fell asleep with her fingers still tangled in his hair, but he's awake. He can't sleep. When he closes his eyes, he sees fire and blackened flesh. He can smell it in his nostrils, hear the shrill screams even though they're miles and hours away. The only thing that chases away the sounds of agony and despair is the steady thump of her heartbeat against his ear, so he can't tear his head away from her breast.

Hiccup feels like his insides have been scraped raw. His throat burns, his eyes sting. His thumb slides back and forth over the ripple of her ribs, feeling the faint ridges beneath the skin. It's embarrassing, how he's curled around her body like a child clinging to his mother, but she didn't say anything about it. Just like the night before. Didn't call him weak or a coward– in fact, she was the one that pulled him to her, even after he took her like an animal. Like a monster.

Calamity rages inside him. He knows why he did it, but not why she let him. She… she's Berk. She's their violence, their condemnation, their hate. He wanted to break it– break her– for what they've done. Take their proud maiden and invade her, abuse her, fill her with his essence so she's forever tainted by him.

He expected her to fight. To claw at him and struggle, like she did that first night. He thought she'd turn on him, hit him, scream and give him the beating of his life. What he wanted… deserved?

But she moaned. She became submissive and slick around his cock. Then when he was done with her, she turned around and tucked his face into her neck. Comforted him while bruises were still blossoming in the shape of his fingerprints. He doesn't understand her. Less now than he did when she first came. Why does she get softer as he gets sharper?

His eyelids feel so heavy. His chest feels so sore. He sighs, lifting a hand to cover his face from the morning light.

 _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum…_

 _Did you touch her? You sick motherfucker!_

 _I swear on the gods, I'll tear out the heart of every dragon that touches this island! And then I'll take yours._

He smells burnt hair. His stomach turns. Dragging himself to his hands and knees, he forces his tired body to move. The arm wrapped around him falls aside.

Hiccup buries his nose just below her ear, inhaling the scent of Astrid's hair and sweat. He drops his lips there, kissing a steady line from her pulse point down to her clavicle. She stirs and sighs but doesn't wake, only shifting to stretch her hands above her.

This is the only thing that he understands. The only thing that makes sense. He'll never know what she's thinking, but he knows how to please her. Slowly making his way between her breasts and down her chest, he nudges her knee aside with his so he can crawl the length of her body. His hands follow the narrowing of her waist, the swell of her hips. He kneels at the edge of the bed and leans down until his shoulders are brushing the insides of her thighs. Underneath the beams of sunlight, the soft hair at her center gleams like gold.

She wakes with the first brush of his mouth on her sex. A sudden inhale. Her back arches off the furs, more startled than anything, and she whimpers with bleary confusion. Trying to retreat, she wiggles against the hands on her, and when that fails, she reaches down to cover herself.

"What are you doing?" she mumbles, sleep still thick in her voice.

Hiccup doesn't answer, just growls low and licks at her clamping hand, the tightly-pressed fingers hiding her curls. He doesn't want to talk or explain what he's doing or where he learned it. Definitely not why, because he's not sure himself. He traces the tip of his tongue between her knuckles, sucks on the edge of her thumb. He just wants her to open to him, to taste her on his breath instead of ash and liquor.

After a moment of apprehensive resistance, her hand relaxes. Astrid watches as he uses his lips and teeth to move the obstacle she's placed in his way. Then when he parts her slit with his tongue, she gasps and slowly lifts herself up on her elbows to observe.

She's still a little wet from their last tryst, and there's a strange saltiness mixed with her juices that he thinks might be traces of his own release. Somehow that only drives him to bury his face deeper, to test searching kisses along even the creases of her groin, the cleft of her ass. Only after he's tried every inch of her skin does he gently open her with one thumb and hover over the nub at the peak of her pink and heated flesh.

Her hips rise against his mouth when he runs the flat of his tongue along that point of pleasure. He glances up to see her jaw fall open, her chest rising and collapsing. Pleased, he carefully sucks at the bead– first softly, then firmly enough to pull it between his lips and roll it teasingly. Her exhales are tinted by almost whimpers.

Her thighs part a little wider. He rewards the signal of trust by kissing lower, then offering just the tip of his tongue. Immediately, she twitches, a little more vocal in her quiet cry. Busying his forefinger by drawing circles around her clit, Hiccup presses into her. He delves in and out, tasting the combination of their lusts.

Her panting steadily grows heavier. A shaking hand pushes his bangs out of his eyes. Looking up, he sees that her teeth have captured her lower lip, and she's watching him with an expression of desire and perplexity. As if she's baffled by his behavior, stunned by how much she's enjoying this despite her embarrassment. Her mother wouldn't have explained to her virgin daughter about this kind of sex.

He just wants her to need him. To know he's not that useless boy anymore. Hiccup buries his tongue as deep as he can, mimicking the rhythmic motions of sex with his mouth. She's hot and wet and responsive, her legs beginning to tremble on either side of him. As he thrusts into her warmth, he massages that bead of nerves that makes her dissolve. Then he pulls away– brings his lips back to that peak while his finger finds her slick entrance.

Astrid moans hoarsely. Her hands ball in the furs beneath them, and her hips twist and writhe in his grasp. "Hiccup!"

He can tell she's not sure whether or not she should like this. Part of her wants to trust him and come unraveled at the erotic sight of his head between her thighs. The other half of her is uneasy, leaning on tradition and propriety. He encourages her with his mouth, silently pleading with her to give in.

And she does. There comes a moment when he crooks his finger inside of her, stroking sensitive inner walls, and her entire body spasms. She gasps his name, knots her fingers in his hair and holds him in place. Her hips grind against him, and though it makes it difficult to keep a steady rhythm of sucking on her clit, he happily follows the desperate rolling.

"Yes. Please." Her pitch skips an octave. He steals a glance to watch her head fall back, lips parted in ecstasy. "Oh gods, Hiccup. Don't stop."

He won't. This is the only thing that holds him together, her sweet abandon. The only thing that tells him he's needed, he's wanted, he's doing everything right. He can't give that up. He craves it as much as his own release.

She's dripping onto his hand, and he presses another finger inside her. Her strangled groan clatters off the stone walls, echoing around him. She murmurs almost incoherently, a combination of his name and swears and clumsy whimpers. He presses his free hand into her lower stomach to try and still some of her impassioned squirming.

She comes like the crack of a whip. Her knees press close to her chest, the tangle of her fingers holding his head in place. The muscles inside her heat and beneath his palm flutter spasmodically. Astrid arches and pants and clenches her jaw against the breathlessness of rapture.

Her whole body trembles when it passes, from her chattering teeth to her quaking thighs. Once the knot on his hair loosens, he lifts his face, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and observes her dazed expression with satisfaction. He's half hard with his own arousal, but it doesn't even occur to him to try and take her. Instead, he crawls back up to her side and kisses her cheekbones.

Maybe now, he can finally sleep.

* * *

Gus sighs. "Your wife's asleep, 'Rendous."

Hiccup pauses mid-swing to glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Astrid has her head on the work table, cushioned by her arms. She's surrounded by sharp blades and steel, but of course none of that bothers her one bit. She's lived on Berk. A few stray daggers are nothing to a woman like her.

"So she is." He turns back to the piece of red-hot metal he's trying to work into shape, bringing his hammer down with a grunt.

Still staring at Astrid as he polishes a broadsword, Gus makes a face of displeasure. "She's gonna cut herself on something. Knock something over."

Hiccup shakes his head, ignoring the way sweat trickles down his back and makes his newest tattoo itch. "She's pretty capable with weapons, Gus. Or have you forgotten?" The blacksmith makes a rude gesture with his fingers, and the side of Hiccup's mouth twitches upwards for just a second. "Leave her alone. She didn't sleep much last night."

He only really meant that he kept her up late waiting for him, forced her to comfort him for hours, and then roused her again when she'd just drifted off. But his partner, of course, has other things on his mind.

Gus breaks into a broad grin, reaching his leg over to give the work bench a small kick. "Horrendous! Keeping your wife satisfied! Good man!"

Hiccup scoffs, grunting a little as he pounds at the cookware in his tongs. "Shut up."

"Are you denying it?" His expression is lascivious.

He shoots him a flat glance. "No." He can almost still taste her on his tongue. Maybe there is just a little male pride that simmers at the thought of her exhaustion. But it's mostly guilt.

Gus cackles, looking down at the sword in his hands. "The way she talks back, I bet she's a dragoness between the skins."

His hammer clangs loudly. Hiccup feels the reverberation of metal on metal shiver up his arm. Images and sensations batter at him– her nails in his shoulders, her hissed prayers, the bite marks she leaves on his neck and arms. Claws and fangs, this one. Dragoness is apt.

"Must you speculate about my wife?" he grumbles, feeling his swinging arm come down with a little surplus strength. "How's your sister, by the way, haven't seen her in a while."

Gus' mouth snaps shut with the audible clicking of teeth. When he doesn't reply, Hiccup knows he's played the right card. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, letting the iron speak between them.

Swallowing, Hiccup sets down his tools and takes a breath, wiping sweat from his brow. He turns and places his hands on his hips, glancing out the window. "You should start doing most of the hot work," he sniffs. His tongue searches the inside of his cheek. "I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be around."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gus raise his brows. "You're leavin' the island?"

"I'm thinkin' about it." Shifting his gaze to Astrid for a brief moment, he shakes his head and tries to reach for the healing tattoo beneath his shoulder blade. His arm won't contort enough. He's limited to tugging at his shirt and hoping it brushes against the burning itch. "Not sure yet."

The other man scoffs lightly. "Odin knows we still need you."

Something in his chest constricts. It's not a good feeling. Hiccup stretches and flexes his fingers, works out the kinks and cramps. When he closes his eyes, he sees glares full of hate. Black night and a matted fur mantle. His breath scrapes into sore lungs, each heartbeat echoing with a jagged stab.

A soft yawn interrupts the images behind his eyelids, and he looks up to see Astrid sitting up. She buries the heels of her palms above her cheekbones and sighs. Then she blinks until her searching gaze falls on him. There's a bright pink mark on her face where it was pressed into her forearm.

"How long was I asleep?" she murmurs, pushing her bangs back.

Hiccup turns back to his work bench, lifting his hammer and tongs with sore hands. "Not long. About an hour."

"Oh." Moaning a little with her stretch, she slides off the work stool and sighs. "I'm gonna go walk off the nap."

"If you go by Fiske's, get me a drink."

"Get your own, you alcoholic."

Despite himself, he smiles.

* * *

She can't sleep and he knows it. No matter how much they ignore each other, he hears her tossing and turning and knows that something's plaguing her. Something's keeping her from drifting off, even though he knows exhaustion thickens her voice and weighs down her eyes. Her body drooped and her steps were sluggish. She crawled onto her furs without a goodnight, only reaching out an arm to scratch a younger dragon that sidestepped near.

He knows because sleep eludes him too. Still. He taps his bottom teeth against the rim of his flask. Stares into the fire and watches the logs dissolve. Toothless is awake with him, his head propped on his forepaws.

There's a tension he doesn't know how to disperse. A thickness hanging in the air that fills their lungs and mouths so they can't speak. It's too quiet, without even an argument between them. Almost like the first few weeks all over again.

Her blankets rustle again. She rolls so that she's facing him– he can tell without even looking.

"Hiccup, I need to know." Her whisper is unsteady, almost shaking. "Who is that scale for? Who was killed?" When he doesn't answer or turn to acknowledge the question, she presses. "Was it my dad? One of my uncles?"

His jaw twitches as he clenches it, swallowing hard and staring ahead. He will not cry. Not for one of them. Not because of her.

Astrid sits up, leaning on one hand. "Was it your dad?"

While the grief buffets against him like waves on a rock, he taps his foot. Lowers the flask and lowers his gaze to the floor. "Snotlout," he says, because she's not a woman who can put down her curiosity and she'll find out one way or another.

A sound sticks in her throat. From his peripheral, she watches with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her breathing changes, quickening. Then she manages, "How?"

Hiccup squeezes his eyes shut. Sees the shadow come over his cousin's face when he cuts between him and the Monstrous Nightmare.

"I've been waiting for you, Dragon Master." He'd said it with a sneer, changing his grip on his hammer. "Where is she? The girl you took?"

He'd been distracted, trying to calm the dragon that hissed and snapped at the Viking. He'd been trying to grab his attention with Inferno, waving it in a slow dance in front of his fanged jaws.

"I asked you a question, you bastard! What did you do with Astrid?!"

Hiccup clenches his fists, remembering how his grip had tightened on the handle of his sword. The dragon was slowly calming, his pupils flickering uncertainly. Snotlout had begun to shout again, and though he'd never lost his temper and used his voice on Berk before, he snapped.

Without even turning to look at him, he snarled, "You've got no business worrying about my wife."

"Did you touch her? You sick motherfucker!"

He must have raised his hammer to strike. Hiccup never saw. He just watched the Nightmare's expression suddenly shift, noticed the way his eyes narrowed. The dragon shrieked, and Hiccup took a nervous step back. He'd thought he was about to be incinerated, but then the Nightmare belched a stream of fire straight past him.

He didn't even realize it was aimed for Snotlout until he heard his cousin's pained shrieking.

Hiccup tries to block it out now, exhales sharply and moves as if to rub his shoulder into his ear. Astrid's still waiting– he can feel the weight of her gaze on him. Choking down the stone in his throat, he looks up at the ceiling.

"He was trying to get into it with me. The Monstrous Nightmare he'd been fighting…" There's no good way to say it. Burned him. Razed him. Scorched him.

There's a little bit of a rasp to her heavy breathing. She looks away, beyond him, nodding. Her mouth snaps shut, and for a second, he thinks she might take the news better than he'd expected. "He… He always goes after the damned Nightmares." Her words don't ease his guilt, but they make him hope that she won't blame him.

But then her hand flies to her mouth, and she gags.

"I'm gonna be sick," she whispers, scrambling to her feet. He watches her half run to the entrance, bare feet leaving soft steps behind. She's only in her leggings and bindings, so the light from the fire reaches flashes of her bare skin. He never hears her vomit, but she keeps her hands pressed over her mouth as she paces.

After a second, she crouches low, collapsing in on herself. Then against the barrier of her palms, she unleashes a devastated and horrified scream.

* * *

"No, Hiccup, no!" She squirms against the grip on her elbow, attempting to dig her heels in and yank her arm back. "I don't want to do this!"

"You have to," he insists, even though it feels wrong pulling her against her will. She doesn't like going too far into the tunnels without a weapon, and he wouldn't let her bring her knife. The dragons that linger closer to the heat of the volcano are bigger, more intimidating. But they're just as docile as the friendly species that stay close to the entrance. "Don't make so much noise– you're going to startle them."

"And, what? They'll kill me too?" The expression she's giving him isn't loathing or as sharp as her words. If anything, her wet eyes only plead with him not to force her any further. He only sees fear shadowing her blue irises.

He stops tugging, and she stops resisting, but she keeps weakly trying to jerk her elbow back. For a second, he just tries to find the right words to calm her, to assure her that she's safe with him. But nothing sounds quite right. He knows that Snotlout's death is still branded too clearly in her mind, the sting of the news still fresh. She has no reason to trust him, if he couldn't even protect his own cousin. But he wants her to.

"They're babies. They just want to play." It sounds pathetic even to him, but it's the truest thing he can think of. After a moment, he forces himself to look away. Then he pulls her again. She trips over her feet, reluctantly following behind.

The Nightmare hatchlings squawk excitedly when they see him approaching. Their mother lifts her head, exhaling a puff of smoke in hello. Hiccup releases Astrid's hand, stepping to the edge of the nest, and little dragons crowd his knees with squeaks for attention.

"Hey there! How's it going?" He smiles and kneels down so that he can pet the babies as they crawl over each other in an attempt to win the most scratches. "I brought an extra pair of hands– who wants belly rubs?"

Immediately, half of them flop onto their back and chirp. Chuckling, he gives their soft, pale tummies a few strokes. Then he looks over his shoulder, where Astrid is watching with frustration and folded arms. "C'mon. Come protect me from these vicious monsters." As he speaks, one starts licking the hand that has stopped petting.

Shaking her head, she approaches and drops to the balls of her feet. She's angry with him, he can tell, and a little broken hearted too. But she reaches out to spoil the hatchlings anyways. They quickly ignore him and run to her slender fingers.

He gives them a minute, resting his chin on his arms and watching them crawl into her lap. They chew on each other's ears in an attempt to get closest to her. One drapes himself over her shoulder, while another tries peeking under her skirt. That makes the corner of her mouth twitch, but other than that, she holds onto her aching bitterness.

He stretches a hand over to tickle one of the Nightmares with one finger. It gnaws its gums around the digit and gurgles in protest. "Could you kill one?" he asks, almost scared of her answer.

It comes without hesitation. "You know I couldn't."

His heart warms just a little. That's a lie– the relief feels even better than it should. Nodding, he points upwards. Towards the grown Monstrous Nightmare looking over her babies. "What about her?"

Astrid takes more than a few seconds to look up. Then her dark-ringed eyes rise to the dragon in question. There's distress and distrust in her features. "It's not fair," she mumbles. "It's so unfair."

His own chest starts to ache, his heart hammering hollowly in his ribcage. "It's not," he agrees, nodding. He reaches over the hatchlings to give their mother some affection of her own.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asks, voice a little thready. One of the hatchlings senses her sorrow and nuzzles into her neck. She tilts her head to brush her cheek between its budding horns.

Hiccup crawls closer, steals Astrid's hand from where it's been scratching a Nightmare's chin. He pulls it to his back, as far as he can reach. "Can you feel it? Snot's scale?"

Her fingers search for a moment, and then find the still-healing tattoo. Just her light touch on his scabbed skin feels extraordinary, but it's not the time for selfish whims. He holds onto her forearm, keeping her there.

"Yeah," she nods. Wetting her lips, she wonders, "Did it hurt?"

"They all hurt," he wryly replies. Then he pulls gently, brings her hand around to his chest so she's brushing a particular spot on his ribs. If someone stabbed him straight through this scale, it would go right through Snot's. "This was her mate's."

It takes her a second. She outlines the black hexagon, confusion darkening her brow, but then she realizes. Lifting her head, she looks back at the Monstrous Nightmare with new eyes.

Hiccup presses her palm into his torso. "I couldn't live with all that hate anymore, Astrid. Vikings killing dragons, dragons killing Vikings… I had to get out. I chose not to choose."

She's still staring into the mother dragon's yellow eyes. The hatchlings chirp and beg for her attention. She tugs her hand away from his ribs, but then she settles it on the side of his neck. Turns her face to press her forehead to his jaw. "I can't forgive as quickly as you do."

He reaches an arm around her shoulders. "It's not exactly an overnight thing."

The deep breath she sighs against him tickles just a little. She tilts her head and places a kiss on his throat. Nothing heated, nothing needy. Just a soft little kiss. He tightens his hold on her.

There's no telling what's going on in Berk. A lot of grief, probably. A lot of rage. The heir to throne has been killed, and Hiccup's not sure who's next in line. He imagines there's a lot of anguish going around. But in these blazingly hot tunnels, a little hope is blooming.

He gently retreats, pulling back and pushing to his feet. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he asks the Monstrous Nightmare in clumsy dragonese to come closer. She rises to her full height, making Astrid nervously stand and hover at his shoulder. Her claws make skittering, clinking scratches against the stone floor.

"Gimme your hand," he murmurs, extending his own.

Without hesitating, she places her fingers in his palm. "What, you want me to shake hands with her?"

"Nope." He stretches out her arm and holds her hand open. "I want you to fly with her."


	12. Astrid XII-i

**XII-i.**

Thunder cracks so close and so loud that Astrid wakes with a gasp and grabs the furs in her fists. What's broken? It sounded like splintering wood. Why is the raid alarm not blaring?

Then the dark is chased back by a flash of light, illuminating the cave, and Astrid realizes through the slamming of her heart in her chest that she's not on Berk. There's no attack to be afraid of. The low rumbling of thunder begins again, just a grumble before it swells to a crash. The earth-shaking sound sends her jolting. She sits up, feeling adrenaline tingling in her limbs.

Hiccup shifts next to her, and a warm arm slides over her lap. "S'okay," he mumbles, half awake. "Storm."

"I know," she breathes, but her pulse still races in her throat and in her chest. She pushes her bangs back, pressing her hand to her forehead. Wetting her dry lips, she takes slow breaths and tries to calm her speeding heart.

She'd been dreaming about fire. Flames everywhere, blackening stone and crumbling buildings. Choking on ash and squinting through smoke. All she could feel was an imperative. A house was burning and there was someone inside. She had to get them out, had to reach them before the roof collapsed. But the closer she drew to the blaze, the higher the fire leapt. Frustration and fear had her shrieking, and she lingered close enough that she could feel the searing sting of heat on her skin.

Hiccup's hand curls around her hip. He wriggles beneath the furs until he can lay his head on her thighs. His hair tickles her bare stomach. Another peel of thunder sizzles, then roars through the night. She doesn't jump at this one, but it still rattles her nerves.

"Should sing," he advises, breath warm through her tights. "Helps."

Shaking her head, she runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. She gives a little shrug, even though he can't see it. "Dunno any."

He inhales deeply, then sighs. "Lay back down."

Astrid's still unsettled, but she does so, shifting back beneath the fur and staring at the black window in the corner of the cave. He readjusts his own position until his face is extraordinarily close to hers. Eyes still closed, he begins murmuring a melody almost too quietly to hear.

"I'll swim and sail on… somethin' seas… with ne'er a fear of drowning." His lyrics are interrupted by a yawn. His singing voice certainly isn't impressive, especially as low and tinged with sleep it is, but it's still oddly relaxing. "And gladly ride the waves of life, if you na na na naa na."

She hears the scrabble of claws on stone– one of the dragons shifting in their sleep. Somehow that's comforting too, almost like a reminder that they're not alone.

"No scorching sun or freezing cold will stop me on my journey…" His words slur, making the song almost incoherent. But even as she lets her eyes slip closed, she can feel her breathing coming slower and steadier. "If you will promise me your heart, and love me for eternity…"

* * *

Part of the deafening noise in her ears is the blast of wind roaring past. The other part is the obnoxious bird noises that Hiccup caws while he makes her arms flap at her sides. She's not sure whether she wants to scream and hold onto the Nightmare's neck for dear life or trust that even without hands, Hiccup can keep her from falling.

"Admit it!" he shouts over the breeze. "You love it!"

"I'd love it more if I could hang on to something!" she calls back, afraid to turn her head too much lest she lose her balance.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Intertwining his fingers with hers, he keeps her arms extended. The wind pulls at them, trying to push them back, but he holds them straight. "You slip, she catches you."

"Or she doesn't even realize I'm missing until I'm two seconds from splattering below." At least on Toothless, there's a saddle. And his back is a considerably sturdier perch than the Nightmare's slender neck. Her legs are beginning to cramp from holding on so tightly. It's a miracle she hasn't choked the poor dragon to death.

"I think the bloodcurdling screams might get her attention," he laughs. His breath is several degrees warmer than the rest of the air whipping past. In fact, she'd be downright shivering if it wasn't for the combination of the Nightmare's and Hiccup's body heat. The spring afternoon is tepid enough on the ground, but in the clouds, the temperature is bracing. Her fingers are nearly numb.

After a minute, though, he brings her hands back down, though he doesn't untangle them from his own. He lets her hold on to the Nightmare's horns, and the frame of his arms around her feels marginally safer.

It's not her first time flying. Several times now, she's held onto Hiccup's waist as they fly to and from Bulg and the mountain-nest. Every time, her pulse races, her breathing quickens. Adrenaline courses through her veins, and she even finds herself thoroughly enjoying every thrilling moment. Even now, she's deliriously excited. Her heart is trying to burst right out of her chest. But usually she's on Toothless. Usually she can hide her face in Hiccup's back. Usually she can't see the entire world laid out like a map in front of her, stretching endlessly and terrifyingly.

She feels the brunt of the wind now, without him sitting in front of her. If she turns her head the wrong way, a gust of air shoves into her lungs, making it difficult to catch her breath. It burns her eyes so that she has to squint. Even with her hair tied back, strands have still worked free and whip against her face and eyes. And her cheeks are losing feeling, not because of the cold, but because of the wind. Hiccup's helmet makes sense now.

"See that island down there?" he asks over the noise, pointing towards a smudge of green and gray drawing near.

"Yeah?"

"Guide her down a little. Let's land."

Astrid adjusts her grip on the dragon's horns, pressing gently and leaning forward. Just like he's been saying, the Nightmare understands her request. She dips a little sharper than the girl's nerves would prefer, beginning to descend on the small island below. Colors begin to solidify into cliffs and trees.

"Ready?" Hiccup lets go of her hands, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

Her heart skips a beat. "What do I do?"

He shifts behind her, moving oddly, and then she feels a quick kiss on the back of her neck. "You're gonna do great!" he assures her cheerfully.

And then he jumps from the dragon's back.

Astrid shrieks, shouting his name. Panic punches her in the chest, her heart taking on a new and frantic tempo, and her grip on the Nightmare's horns turns vice-like. "Hiccup! Hiccup!" Horror floods her system, and she can only watch wide-eyed as he plummets towards the ground below.

She pushes the dragon forward, demanding that she catch him, but the Nightmare casually watches instead of rushing to his aid. When she realizes that there's no way they'll be able to reach him in time, she shoves her hands over her mouth and screams with acute terror.

Just before he drops to his doom, though, his frame changes. Wings snap taut between his arms and legs. A dorsal fin cuts across his back. Extreme fright turns to confusion and shaky wonder as he glides instead of falling. He circles below them once before flying to a stumbled stop on grass below.

Suddenly, landing becomes the easiest thing in the world. Astrid hardly even notices that she's flying a dragon by herself until after she's eased the Nightmare down on the cliffside and thrown herself off of her seat. Her rubbery legs collapse beneath her at first. She runs to where Hiccup's lying, stretched prostrate in the grass. And she almost expects him to be dead despite what she's just seen, but his chest is heaving, and he's grinning stupidly up at the sky.

When she drops to her knees and begins smacking at him, however, he snaps out of his adrenaline high and throws his hands up in defense.

"You stupid, stupid asshole!" she shrieks, landing a hit here and there. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that?!"

"Hey, hey!" He rolls over, laughing, and tries to push to his knees, but she pushes him back down. "Easy, easy, easy!"

"Fuck you, Hiccup!" Her throat feels tight, and she's not sure why. "Fuck you!"

He must catch the strange shrill note in her voice too, cause his amused expression drops. Accepting a few more smacks, he blinks up for a second before struggling to grab her wrists. He holds them tight so she can't move. Pushing up on his elbow, he furrows his brow at her. "What's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

Astrid's not quite sure herself. She seethes, weakly yanking in an attempt to pull back her arms. "You should've just gotten yourself killed," she spits. "Done us all a favor. You Thor-damned idiot."

He wriggles so he can sit up. "Hey. Stop. C'mere." Letting go of her wrists, he throws his arms around her and pulls her close. His leather wings are still loose at his sides, and they wrap around her like a blanket. "I'm sorry. It was just a joke. I wanted to show you my flight suit. I'm sorry."

"That's why you wear that ugly thing?" she hisses, surprised to find that her teeth are chattering. And now that she's paying attention, her whole body is trembling. There's an awful nausea in her throat that makes her swallow hard. "So you can jump off dragons and maybe not hit the ground hard enough to break every bone in your stupid body?"

"I'm okay," he murmurs into her hair, not answering her question. "Shh, Astrid, it's alright. I didn't mean to scare you." Despite herself, she finds that her fingers are like claws in his shoulders, holding him the way she does when they're naked and panting together. When she realizes how much she's over reacting, it feels like a different kind of nakedness altogether. Why is it so hard to blink back the tears stinging her lashes? Why does her relief feel like a maelstrom in her chest?

"Gods, you're so stupid," she whispers against his neck. One shaking hand knots in the hair at the back of his neck.

"I know. Yeah." His sigh tickles her ear. "Toothless doesn't like it either."

"Because he has sense." As he holds her, she can feel the painful pounding of her heart slowing to something almost normal. She still feels wobbly, though, like she might fall to pieces if she tries to stand. The strange, intense scare has passed, and now she's simply wondering why in the world she experienced such a strong reaction.

Hiccup pushes some of the loose strands of hair back, rubbing his face against her temple in something that reminds her of the way the mother Nightmare nuzzles her babies. "He has always been the smarter of the two of us."

That summons the smallest, breathiest laugh.

"And just for the record, while my flight suit admittedly is not the safest attire, neither is it ugly. I think your time as a hostage has skewed your sense of style."

"Shut up."

"The ladies love it." Shrugging one shoulder, he rests his chin atop her head. "I mean, think about it. Can you really resist me when I'm wearing this?"

She proves she can by scoffing and pushing him away. "Sorry to break it to you, but you're not half as attractive as you think you are." Running her nails across her scalp, she makes an effort to steady her breathing.

"Ingrid likes my flight suit."

That has Astrid whipping her head around to glare at him. His green eyes are fixed to the sky, expression innocent, and he stretches back onto the grass as if in thought. "Has she seen you free falling to your death?" she hisses, hands ready to turn to fists again.

"She doesn't think I'm stupid. Ingrid thinks I'm funny."

Narrowing her gaze, she scoffs and resists the urge to clench her jaw. "Do you want to go kidnap Ingrid, then? Marry her! You can take me back to Berk, and she can have your flight suit and the skinny asshole in it." She twists so she can face him. "In fact, Ingrid can clean up your messes and deal with your dragons putting knots in her bindings. And Ingrid can sit in the nest and stare at the wall while I–"

Hiccup suddenly lunges, wrapping his arms and legs around her and rolling her beneath him. She yelps, squirming and cussing and trying to untangle her limbs from his while he covers her face and neck in obnoxious, noisy kisses. At first she's even more irritated. But then he envelopes her in his wings, and her shrieking brings the curious Nightmare prancing over. She snuffles at their hair. The short pecks on her cheeks and jaw and chin become sloppy raspberries blown just below her ear. His restraining hands turn into tickling fingers torturing laughter from her, and he makes loud dragon noises while pretending to gnaw on her throat.

She giggles and screams until tears are running down her temples and her stomach aches. Too weakened by his tickling to fight back, she collapses and gives up trying to wrestle him off. He holds her hands above her head, grinning and catching his own breath. The sunlight in his hair makes it seem more like bronze or copper than its usual ruddy brown, and his eyes are bright with excitement and mischief.

He splutters a last short raspberry against her forehead. "I don't want Ingrid," he tells her definitively. "I already have a perfectly cantankerous, moody and obstinate wife."

"She wants a divorce!" she laughs, kicking her legs and tugging at her arms.

Hiccup presses his lips together, pensively staring down at her. For a second, she thinks maybe she's actually bothered him with her words, but then he lifts his brows and exclaims, "Nope!"

And then he's tickling her again.

* * *

The island of Berk feels like it's tilting beneath the soles of her boots. Rocking and unsteady, like the deck of a ship. She takes one step forward, letting her hand fall from the Nightmare's hot, dry scales, and stares at the line of homes with wide eyes.

It was too easy. He left on Toothless just after the sun had set, and she threw her things into a bag and went searching through the tunnels. All she had to do was woo the dragon with a fish and ask uncertainly about Berk, and the Nightmare was spreading her wings and lowering her neck for Astrid to climb upon. The journey wasn't more than a few hours. Even evading the night watch had been simple.

Now she's taking in the scenery of her village, laying eyes on her island for the first time in months. It's as dreary and grey and bleak as she left it. Her throat tightens with fondness, her breath catching in excitement.

Then she's running. Astrid sprints for her house, swallowing down a sudden wave of emotion. Her shaking hands slide over the front door, savoring the feeling of it beneath her palms for the first time in months. Everything is dark, the sky black and the windows drawn shut. She presses her forehead against the door, smiling wildly, and then she lets herself inside.

It still creaks at the same exact angle. It smells the same, a combination of fire in the hearth and furs and wheat. No lingering scent of scales, no humidity to the air. There's just a little chill to the air, but the floor beneath her is wooden, not stone. For a second, she can only breathe in the familiarity and search the darkness for anything amiss. It's all exactly as she remembers, which is almost as disturbing as the thought of it changing.

She can hear her mother snoring. Heart pounding, she slowly walks towards their bedroom and leans against the door fame. Her fingertips trace the grooves in the grain. She can't stop beaming as she closes her eyes and listens to the sound of their steady breathing. Her hand keeps reaching for the doorknob– then retreating. Wanting so badly to see them, to forgive them, to be overwhelmed by their reactions. She wants to feel her father's bear-like embrace and her mother's hands in her hair. But something stops her. She lets them sleep.

Astrid sits at the kitchen table, in her usual place. Stretches out in front of the low-burning fire and rests her cheek against the stone. Paces the living room wall and touches the weapons hanging there. Her axe is still there, resting in its spot. She picks it up and gives it a toss. It doesn't feel any heavier than when she last held it.

Sighing, she crosses the space and climbs the stairs to her room. It's untouched, which means that there hasn't been any structural damage during any of the raids while she's been gone. Hiccup's probably to thank for that. Everything feels like safety and comfort and a strange touch of nostalgia. Setting down her axe, she throws herself onto her bed and rolls over onto her back.

It's soft. So soft. Almost like her mattress is absorbing her, sucking her in. It's both extremely comfortable and a little disconcerting. She shifts until her head finds the pillow and then lets her eyes slide closed.

Home. Some days she didn't think she'd ever see it again. The sounds of Berk are soft as they swirl around her– her mother's snore, the tap of shutters in the breeze, sheep bleating in the distance and the occasional croaking frog. Domestic noises. A house with walls and a roof.

She was torn from this place, dragged away and stolen. As she breathes and lies in the comfort of her bed, she imagines walking past villagers come morning, chin lifted high. They sacrificed her, sentenced her to a death they couldn't even imagine. But she survived. Thrived. Conquered old fears in order to make it back to her village. She escaped a captor they shook in terror of.

Astrid can't help but wonder what he'll think when he realizes she's no longer trapped on that island. He'll search, but he won't find her. She's long gone, and he probably hasn't even noticed.

It's weirdly calm without the gasp of dragons' breaths. With a floor beneath her and the fire. She's so used to the presence of a dozen beating hearts. It feels early in the night, but Berk has been asleep for hours. Inside the mountain-nest, she'd be up dragging wet rags over dragon scales, washing the dirt from horns and claws. Waiting for her husband to arrive so he can hoist her against the wall, push her skirt aside, and ease inside her. She's gotten accustomed to falling asleep with his exhales in her hair.

Hiccup will have to start making his own meals again. He'll have to go back to one-sided conversations and patching up his own battle wounds.

Her eyes slowly open. For some reason, dread settles like a boulder in her gut. Even as she searches the ceiling a little anxiously, she's seeing his hand wrap a blond curl around one finger. The almost reluctant tilt of his lips at something she's said. The contrast of her pale thigh straddled over his tattooed side. Things she'll never have to deal with again. Never have to feel.

She won't ever have to face the Dragon Master again.

The gulp of air she swallows is bracing. Throwing herself from the bed, she yanks her bedroom door open and tears down the stairs. The bang of her boots sound like thunder, and she distantly notes the way her mother's snore cuts off suddenly. She's already gone, though, racing outside and towards the cliff with a hammering heart. Please still be there, she thinks pleadingly. Please don't leave me.

But the dragon is nowhere in sight. The only way back is gone. Her wheezing burns her lungs, and she stares out at the glittering ocean with her hands on her knees. Crushing disappointment squeezes her throat. She presses her lips against her forearm to keep back a whimper of despair.

Then a gust whips her skirt flat against the back of her thighs, and she turns on her heel to see Hiccup's Monstrous Nightmare quietly landing. Straightening, Astrid swallows hard in sharp relief. It's not too late. She can turn back.

Quickly closing the space between her and the dragon, she hugs the Nightmare's head close. Feels the soft spot beneath her jaw vibrating with a coo of fondness. Pulling back, she pecks a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Come on," she whispers, well aware that one of the watches might have noticed a dragon circling. "Let's go home."

* * *

The sky is just barely changing hues of blue when she reaches the island. Astrid can feel her heart trying to climb its way into the back of her mouth, and she taps her hands restlessly against the Nightmare's neck. The drop in altitude makes her stomach lurch, as always, and then the thump of their combined weight at the mouth of the cave sends it churning again.

She was hoping she would make it back before him. That she could pretend like she'd never left. But she slowly enters to find him standing in the center of the room, helmet in one hand as he stares at her empty pallet. His back is a cold wall. Toothless nudges his nose against the other hand, but his rider doesn't even turn his head to acknowledge him.

"Hiccup?"

He turns so quickly that he nearly trips over the Night Fury at his side. Eyes wide, he stares at her, lips parted as if to say something. His chest rises and falls with heavy, uneasy breaths. He's looking at her like he's almost not sure whether she's real or an apparition. For some reason, the shock in his expression feels like the point of a knife digging into her chest.

After a moment, she finds her words. "I… went flying," she lies. Astrid gestures vaguely behind her. The Nightmare is still resting just outside the cave, licking at the tips of her wings.

He drags his gaze down to her feet and then back up. Nods kind of distractedly. "Okay."

An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, one she feels the need to fill with stilted attempts at conversation. "I just– just thought I'd get some air while I was waiting."

Nodding again, he works his jaw and glares at his feet. By the light of the nearly dead fire, she can see the cords of his neck twitch as he swallows hard. "Right. It uh… It gets stuffy in here."

There's a thick tension in the air, and she doesn't want him to know it's because she had the chance to escape and didn't. Not just the chance– she did escape. She was free. She was safe, and she gave it up to come back to his chains and dungeon. Since the moment she left Berk, she's been trying to understand it, trying to reason with that part of her that isn't sure a life of war and strife is tolerable anymore. All she can come up with is the thought that staying as a prisoner ensures Berk's safety, but even that doesn't feel exactly right anymore.

She moves closer, slipping her bag off her shoulder and letting it fall to the floor. His eyes find it, take note of her clothes half spilled across the stone. His fingers clench and flex, his gaze calculating. Before he can tell her what he knows– or guess at it– she takes his head in her hands and drags his attention away. His nostrils flare as he searches her features. The lines of his face are so harsh, the shadows so dark both in his eyes and beneath them.

Something shoves into her back, knocking her into Hiccup. Astrid yelps a little quietly, bracing her hands against his chest, and she looks over her shoulder to catch a Night Fury sneaking away.

"Meddling reptile," Hiccup mutters, not meeting her gaze. His hands smooth up her arms anyhow.

She glances back to him, feeling various buckles and belts digging into her chest. Maybe, in the same way, he can feel the beating of her heart against his.

She's not sure if he lowered his mouth to hers or if she first pressed up onto her tiptoes. They're kissing, and as familiar as he feels, somehow there's an unshakeable newness to the softness of his lips. His breath fans across her cheeks. His hands slide along her neck. The warmth of their bodies makes it hard to drag air into her lungs, and her thoughts feel wind-blown and scattered.

They only part for a second to breathe.

"I'm not sorry," she pants, even though she's not sure what to be sorry for. For leaving. For returning. For kissing him, or for offering herself as a sacrifice all those months ago.

Something like fire crackles in his eyes, reminding her of a forest fire. "You never are."

She kisses him so she won't say he's wrong. He tastes like ale and ash. The scruff of his chin and upper lip scrapes against her skin, stinging in a pleasant way. They fuck more than they kiss. She's used to the bristly burn of his scraggly, unkempt facial hair along her neck, her breasts, her back. But breathing in each others' breaths– taking his desperate exhale into her lungs– it's almost too intimate for their usual lusts.

They don't normally undress slowly either. The moments after Hiccup comes home just before sunrise are hasty and needy, usually filled with scratching nails, groping hands, biting teeth. For now, he's untying the laces of her tunic with precise care. He drops his mouth to her collarbone, brushes affections in the hollow of her throat. The curl of his fingers cupping the back of her neck feels like stability. The quilted leather of his vest feels like dragon scales.

Undoing his flight suit has become second-nature. She knows the straps and belts, the various pieces and the order in which they have to be removed. He tugs free her braid as she slides off his vest. Her own belt is undone, and her tunic is lifted over her head. His fingertips ghost over her shoulders and down her spine, making her shiver.

The next several moments are a blur of hitched breaths and kisses lost over curves and planes and spaces. Hiccup holds her as tightly as ever, but he's gentle in a way she's unaccustomed to. They find their way to his bed, lose layers of clothing and exteriors much tougher than leather or wool. When he fills her, he touches his forehead to hers and sighs her name. The weight of him above her isn't a pain or a prison– it's an anchor, holding her in safe waters. She strokes his back and traces the muscles working with every slow thrust. Instead of an explosion burning them alive, their desire is like magma, glowing fissures that crack the surface and break mountains.

Coming undone feels like forgetting how to breathe. Lips parted and brow crumpled in ecstasy, she keeps his gaze and holds onto his forearms . His steady pace never changes, never falters, and he uses both hands to tenderly brush her hair back while she whimpers and shudders.

In the morning, there won't be one bruise. Not a single scratch. No teeth marks or scrapes or raw soreness. She's not sure who's holding her, but it's not her callous Dragon Master. She's not sure why they can't use their words– to confess that she left, to explain why he pretends not to know– but this seems better anyways. What ever this is. Because she knows it isn't anything they've done before. Baring more than skin, giving more than pleasure. She doesn't know quite what this is, but it isn't what they've been doing. It isn't fucking.


	13. Hiccup XII-ii

**XII-ii.**

He can smell smoke in his clothes. The scent of the forge is thick on him today, and his hands are smudged with soot. Sweat still clings to his back and near the roots of his hair. But the work day's residue doesn't damper his mood. He feels exhausted and accomplished, and he wants to take a bath so he can steal between Astrid's furs without her griping about his smell.

He shushes Toothless as he bounds into the cave, claws clattering tailfin scraping along the stone floor. The Night Fury warbles, happy to be home after a long night. Since she hasn't called out her bored greetings, she probably drifted off waiting up for them. If she's still asleep, he doesn't want to wake her. At least– he doesn't want his dragon to wake her. "Not so loud, bud. Some people are trying to sleep around here."

Toothless crouches low, properly sobered, tiptoeing in the dark. Hiccup chuckles and shakes his head.

The fire's nearly dead, so he grabs a log and gets it burning before anything. But as it begins to spread light along the cave walls, he starts to feel as if something's not quite right. After a moment, he realizes he doesn't hear the sound of Astrid's steady breathing.

Hiccup stands and straightens, tugging off his helmet and slowly walking towards her self-designated corner. The furs are rumpled and twisted, but there's no blonde Viking tangled inside. He turns to check and see if she's commandeered his own bed, but she's not there either. The feeling of unease grows.

"Astrid?" he calls out, glancing at the tunnels. Stepping towards the blackness, he quickly breaks into a jog when he's only answered by his own echo. "Astrid? Hey, Astrid?!" His heart starts to hammer in his chest, only becoming more painful as he shouts up and down the nest, with no reply. He rakes a hand through his hair and runs back to the main room.

Toothless looks just as alarmed as he feels, shuffling nervously to his rider's side. Hiccup doesn't think she'd be sitting on the roof so late at night, but she's not answering elsewhere, so he cups his hands around his mouth and hollers at the window. Still no sign of his wife.

Panic is beginning to set in. Did she try climbing the mountainside and fall? Did she go flying and get lost? He passed out once from spending too long in the hot spring after a fight– did that happen to her? Astrid's not a helpless young woman, nor is it unlike her to hide to get a rise from him, but even when she's teasing him, she's never let her jokes go on this long.

Hiccup starts to turn back to the tunnels, reaching to his thigh to unstrap Inferno so he can search for her. But as he's passing her furs again, they catch his eye. He's not sure why, so for a long minute, he stares and tries to calm his frantic pulse, but then it hits him. Her things are gone. She has so little that he hardly noticed. But the towel she claimed for her own is gone, along with the change of clothes he purchased from Herga. Even her bridal crown and the knife she adopted– they're not in their usual tidy spots at the foot of her furs.

The truth hits him like a blow to the chest. Like the slam of her father's hammer all over again. Astrid's not just missing. She's gone.

He hears himself exhale heavily, then clenches his jaw. His fingers curl tighter around his helmet. Of course, he should have expected it. The first opportunity she had to run, and she took it. Really, he's a fool for not anticipating her leaving. It was why he wanted her to learn to fly on her own. He just didn't think she'd go so soon. And he'd kind of been expecting a goodbye.

"Fuck," he whispers. This hurts worse than those broken ribs. Strange how he always finds himself in this position– betrayed and disappointed. He'd been thinking that she was starting to almost enjoy being trapped in his nest. Their arguments had certainly become less frequent, and the way she curled against him in her sleep had him thinking she was warming to him. Even after he'd confessed everything about Snotlout, she hadn't been harsh or angry with him. But perhaps she was just biding her time after all.

Well. She's gone now. Swallowing and staring, he tries to rein in the storm attempting to swell in his ribcage. He knows what happens now. He drinks. He sleeps. He wakes up and fights and comes back to a nest that didn't seem quite so empty before she came. Where her touches are everywhere– the stacks of books, the neatly folded laundry, the blonde strands he finds in his bed, his clothes, even his own hair. And Gods, she's all over his skin too. He'll have to wash that off. He needs his flask. He needs Ingrid. He needs–

"Hiccup?"

Her voice is so quiet and tentative that he might be dreaming it. His heart lurches, and he turns on his heel to see her standing near the entrance. The Mama Nightmare is grooming herself out on the cliffside, and the cobalt blue of morning is fading to a softer shade behind her. It sets Astrid in the shadows, but she's close enough to the fire that he can make out the uncertainty in her features.

"I… went flying," she says, even though she doesn't have to tell him. Whisps of her hair have come loose from her braid, and her cheeks are flushed by wind burn. She's prettiest like that– he thought so the day before, when she'd been frazzled and laughing. But it's even more beautiful on her now, with her standing in front of him after leaving for what he thought was forever. He hates her a little for it.

She's here, though. And he's still trying to understand why. "Okay."

Why? She had her chance. She was home free. Did she think he would chase her? Track her down and drag her back? Even if he wanted to, he had more pride than that.

"I just–" Astrid takes a couple steps forward, wringing her hands uncomfortably in front of her. "I just thought I'd get some air while I was waiting."

He wonders how long she actually waited before she decided to leave. Was she plotting it from the moment he taught her to fly? Or did it simply occur to her in the middle of the night that she finally had the means to make it home? Nodding distractedly, he keeps his eyes on the ground, lest he give too much away with his expression.

"Right. It uh… It gets stuffy in here."

She won't stop staring at him. Why is she staring? Why is she here, looking at him so unnervingly, when she had every chance to leave him behind and forget about the past three months? He almost wants to yell, to tell her to get out. To send her away, if that's what she wants to badly.

Her footfalls are soft and hesitant as she crosses the space between them. She drops her bag, and he glances up to see her half-folded spare tunic exposed by the open satchel. He might be able to make himself believe her story if it weren't for that bag. She'd packed everything, with no intent to return.

Standing in front of him, she slides her fingers into his hair, tilting his head so that he's forced to look away from the spilled bag. He's having trouble naming the emotions flickering behind her blue eyes, but they're making his throat thick and his chest sore. Part of him wants to pull away, but he's too hooked on her. Even just having her hands on the sides of his face is a touch that feels too good to be able to savor.

There's a sudden rustle, and she makes a chirping noise before falling against him. He drops his helmet to catch her, and it clatters across stone. Over her shoulder, Toothless gives him a little nod, as if encouragement, before slinking off to the tunnels. "Meddling reptile," he growls, only receiving a tail flick in acknowledgement from his best friend.

When he glances back at Astrid, she's staring earnestly at his face. Her fingers are slowly curling into his shirt, and her chest rises and falls against his with her nervous breathing. He's not sure what she has to be nervous about– she's the one that left him, after all. But then he figures out what that look on her face is called. It's apology. Regret.

And for a second, he can only tighten his grip on her shoulders and try to summon the words he needs. To tell her he understands. That even if he's not sure why she came back, he's so damn glad she did. She came back. Came back for him. Before he can stop himself, he's ducking his head and shoving his mouth against hers.

She's soft and shaking in his arms. Somehow, without having to say anything, he thinks she knows that he's just now realizing how badly he wanted her to stay. He didn't just want to have her around for company and witty banter, he wanted to keep her. And now he's realizing that he can't, but he wants to, and so for just a little while, he has to hold her and prove that he can be more than a captor and a bedmate. He needs her to know how she's torn open the heart he tried to weld shut.

She pulls away, panting and hovering over his mouth. With his hands framing her neck, he can feel the race of her pulse beneath his palms. Her tongue runs over her bottom lip, tasting him there, and then she just barely shakes her head.

"I'm not sorry," she breathes, holding his gaze.

Another awful pang slams into his chest. "You never are," he reminds her, brushing his thumbs along her jawbone. That's just her. Stubborn, obstinate, self-righteous. But she's always been that way. She has to follow her gut, plow straight ahead. Make her own way, no matter who or what might try and hold her back.

That's why she's so dangerous. So hard to hold onto. She's like molten steel– glowing and blindingly beautiful, but so risky to touch.

In the morning, he'll worry about it. In the morning, he'll decide. For now, though, she's come back to him. She gave him something he couldn't ask for himself, and in return, he has to give her a piece of him. He brushes his mouth against hers, tastes her honeyed mead tongue against his and drags his fingers to the laces of her tunic. For a night, he'll let himself look at her the way he wants to look at her. Touch her the way he wants to touch her. Kiss her– and not be afraid to pour all this unsteady need into her. For a night, he'll hold her the way he wants to.

And in the morning… In the morning, he'll move on.


	14. Astrid XIII

**XIII.**

There's no good morning. She wakes to her tunic hitting her in the face, and she mutters a few choice words before rolling over and curling into a ball.

"Come on. Wake up." Hiccup tosses more clothes her way, effectively putting an end to the dreamy warmth she'd been content to stay in forever.

Groaning, she presses her palms into her eyes and squints at the window. Judging by the way the sun's streaming in, they haven't overslept. It's weird that he's awake before she is, but she's been more exhausted lately since he's started taking her with him to work. Astrid sits up and pushes her hair out of her face.

"It's not even sunset," she grumbles, glaring as she watches him pace around the room. He's already dressed, and he's shoving things in a wide-mouthed satchel. "Why the rude awakening?"

"Long day ahead," he sighs, not looking up from the task at hand. When she doesn't immediately move, he yanks the fur from her lap as he crosses the room. "Hurry up, get moving."

She scowls, folding her arms in front of her naked body. Not that she's unused to his odd moods and curt tone, but after last night… Well. She's not sure what she expected, after his gentle hands and penetrating stares, but it wasn't to be wrenched from bed before she'd even fully shaken herself awake. Her stomach churns with something like aggravation. Her mouth tastes sour. After an unpleasant start to her morning, she wants to stomp over to her own pallet and start over.

"Just go without me today. I want to sleep."

"Uh-uh." Hiccup shakes his head and spends a moment chasing down Toothless so he can attach the sack to his saddle. "We're not going into town. Get packing." After a pause, he adds. "Wear the fur. It'll be cold."

That catches her interest. She sits up, finally unfolding her legs and forcing life into her tired body. "Where are we going?"

"North." He kicks her bindings towards her. "There's somebody I want you to meet."

For some reason, that sentence hits her with a sense of dread. She instantly pictures the worst– another wife kept somewhere far from here. Hel, a whole family of little Hiccups running around riding dragons while he's been sleeping between her legs. "Who?"

The feeling of uneasiness only doubles when he replies, "You'll see when we get there."

Getting there takes a while. Two days, to be specific. She thought the flight to Bulg was long, but she realizes she didn't even know the meaning of the word. She holds onto Hiccup and watches the sky as her legs and back ache. Her butt goes numb before the sky even turns dark, and she has to beg him to land multiple times so she can walk off the tingling in her hips.

His entire demeanor bothers her. He's not exceptionally mean or particularly short with her, he just seems… distant. When she speaks, he seems distracted, and when she extends a hand towards him, he acts as if he doesn't see it. After hours of flight, when he finally finds them a cove to rest in for a little while, he sleeps with his back to her.

At first, she can't deny that his behavior makes her chest twinge with hurt. Surely she's being oversensitive. She probably just read too much into the night before. So what if he touched her like she was something precious and valuable? He probably acted that way with all sorts of women. He probably looked at Ingrid like that. He was able to fool their village into thinking he was dead for seven years, so it's not strange at all that he can turn into another man come sunrise.

Once she starts thinking along those lines, though, she just gets irritated. Then everything he does annoys her. The way he ruffles the wind out of his hair with his fingers. The way he twists to stretch out the aches of sitting on a dragon for hours at a time. And dear gods if he turns that Night Fury upside down one more time, she's going to puke down the back of his shirt.

It's a miserable day– or night– over all. Even Toothless seems annoyed with the extensive journey, because the moment they dismount, he grumbles and curls into a tight ball beneath a set of tall fronds.

"C'mon, Toothless," Hiccup sighs, gesturing towards the pile of debris he's gathering. "Can I get a hand?"

The Night Fury spits a measly fireball in their general direction, catching on the sticks but just barely missing Hiccup's boots.

"Thanks," he replies flatly. "Much appreciated."

Astrid tries to make an attempt or two at conversation, asking again who it is they're going to see and trying not to seem too panicked. He's terse, and she's tired, though. She realizes that he's in no mood for discussion, that he only wants to stare pensively at the cloudy stars. So she scoots closer to his side with a frown and uses her bag as a pillow. The minute she wiggles near, he rolls over.

She grits her teeth but shoves down the irritation. The sharper nudge, the feeling of being slapped, she completely ignores. Exhaustion hangs too heavily on her bones, and she isn't sure what the next day entails. So she saves the fight for another day and lets sleep claim her.

And she should be used to sleeping on the ground by now, but it's the open sky above her that feels strange. The constant breeze on her skin is unsettling and keeps rousing her. There's plenty of wildlife around, she's sure, but not enough to mimic the sound of a dozen dragon snores. She tosses and turns, a frustration building that nearly sends her to tears.

She pulls her knees to her chest, glaring at Hiccup's back. No matter how she tries to push it out of her thoughts, the night before won't leave her alone. It's insane, of course, but she wants those soft kisses on her forehead. The warmth of his fingers pushing back her bangs. She's not sure what she did wrong, or if this is just some new facet of his personality she'll have to learn to live with.

Like a traitor, her hand slides across the thin grass. She pinches the fabric of his shirt between her thumb and fingers. He doesn't shift and his breathing doesn't change, so she lets herself close her eyes again. She tells herself she'll make sense of this obnoxious dependency issue in the morning.

Hiccup's sharp sigh makes her jump. She snatches her hand back. The swell of defensive anger brings harsh words to her lips, but before she can spit them at him, he rolls over and throws his arm over her. It doesn't pull her close or curl around her waist, but the weight of it satisfies her strange desire for contact. His eyes are closed and his expression doesn't seem peaceful enough for sleep, but she doesn't comment. She takes the arm for what it is– a begrudging offering and a reluctant comfort.

Astrid rests a little better after that.

* * *

"What… is that?"

She can see her breath in the crisp arctic air, and it chills her fingers no matter how closely she presses them to Hiccup's sides. The enormous formation ahead is undoubtedly not any average iceberg– white shards stab outwards towards the pale blue sky, almost crystalline in structure, and the entire thing is as large as an island. It towers over the ocean, shadowing the surrounding banks of ice and snow.

"Eh, I guess you could call it my home away from home." Hiccup gives a shrug and reaches down to pat Toothless. Both of their moods have improved considerably, even if Astrid's has only worsened with sleep deprivation and the cold. "How's, uh– How's that fear of dragons doin' ya?"

She glares at the back of his helmet. "I'm not scared of dragons."

"Right. Good. Glad to hear it."

Crisp wind whips at her cheeks as he brings Toothless lower. They skim just above the ocean waves as the strange island of ice looms closer and closer. Every now and then, she thinks she catches the tail of a tidal class dragon slipping beneath the surface. The giant dome casts a shadow over them, and the air drops another couple of degrees as they approach. She's glad he reminded her to put on her fur hood– it keeps her a fraction warmer and keeps the chill off her ears.

"Up we go!"

Astrid gasps and holds tighter to Hiccup as they begin a sharp ascent. Then Toothless is turning almost sideways, and a crack between ice spikes appears just before it seems they're about to crash. Everything darkens. Blues and blacks blur around them, the sounds of Toothless' wings and excited purrs echoing off the walls. They fly into a brighter room, and the Night Fury lands gracefully. His claws scrape against the glassy floor.

Heart beating a little nervously, she lets Hiccup dismount first. Then she swings her leg over and wanders a circle around the chipper dragon.

"Hello?" he calls out, hands cupped around his mouth. She stares slack-jawed at the icicles jutting from every inch of the ceiling, some dripping into silvery pools on the floor. After realizing he's already walking into the next room, she scrambles to keep up. "Anybody home?"

Surely this person that she's supposed to meet is a dragon. It seems obvious now. No human would live so far from civilization, holed up in some cave in the middle of the ocean…

Oh.

"Hellooo?" he calls again, and she glances over her shoulder at the sound of scratching talons. It's not Toothless making that noise. "I'm back!"

"Who are we meeting?" she whispers uneasily. The tunnel they're following narrows, and then opens into a wide icy room, full of light. Her guess at their mystery person is immediately proven wrong– just like the mountain nest back home, this island is inhabited. A set of furs is tucked into a niche in the wall. A sunken fire pit is surrounded by a ring of split logs for seating. A steady flame crackles inside. There's even a makeshift stove, a stone table, baskets and baskets of materials. Someone human clearly lives here.

"You have no sense of appreciating anticipation, do you?" He scoffs, pulling her forward. "Come on. You'll want to see this."

Hiccup leads her down into the room, and she realizes that it leads into a garden-like area of sunshine and greenery. And then it explodes.

What she thought was a small cubby of flora widens and then drops off– a gust of wind suddenly blows her back as an enormous dragon flies by. They're standing on a cliffside, merely the edge of a vast and seemingly roof-less cavern. Grass and fronds cover every surface– a giant waterfall pours into a glittering lake below. Dragons of every shape, color, size fly and play around them. Nests of hatchlings are safely peeking over alcoves in the icy walls. Families of species huddle together and preen. Some hardly pay attention to the humans' presence. Others land and scurry near.

"Oh my gods," she breathes, wide-eyed and taking it all in. It's beautiful, breath-taking. A little terrifying and utterly amazing. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, and she curls her hand around Hiccup's elbow. "I've never seen so many in one place."

"She's got a pretty varied collection," he nods with a half-grin. His gaze is fond, even almost a little distant. Nearly nostalgic.

That catches her attention. Cutting her gaze to him, she asks, "'She'?"

Astrid doesn't have to wait for a reply, though. Something large and furry suddenly fwumps to the ground behind her. At first she yelps, jumping back, and even Hiccup seems to startle. But then she realizes that what she thought was a beast is a woman in a fur mantle. She straightens to a slight slouch and beams at Hiccup.

"Can you not?" he complains, putting his hands on his hips. "I have a guest."

The woman is definitely a couple decades their senior, with a narrow face and high cheekbones. Her light brown hair is smeared with silver at her temples, and she peers up with grayish green eyes that twinkle happily. Toothless bounds cheerfully around her, and she reaches out a hand to skim fingertips over his scales. "You could have written," she snarks back, and then she's pulling Hiccup into a warm embrace. "It's so good to see you. I'm glad you're here."

"I missed you too," he tells the woman, and there's not a single grudging note in his tone. Pulling away, he gestures to her. "Mom, this is my wife, Astrid. Astrid, Mom."

"Mom?" she blurts, and that exact moment, the woman echoes, "Wife?"

Astrid starts to say, but your mom's dead! But his dead mom beats her to the punch. "Hiccup, you got married? When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now!" He waves a hand towards the girl standing dumbstruck beside him. "It wasn't a big romance or anything. It's a little bit of a long story."

The woman's gaze sweeps over to Astrid. She tries not to gape as a mother's scrutinizing examination looks her up and down. Crouched low as she is, she appears a little odd– maybe skittish. She doesn't quite face her head on, and the step she takes forward is a little bit of a shuffle. After a long moment, though, she gives a bob of her head– one that reminds her of Toothless– and allows her a closed-lipped smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Astrid. I'm Valka." There's a soft accent that gives her words a broguish lilt.

"This is…" She's not sure how to finish that sentence. Really weird? A little too unbelievable? She ends up following with, "…your home?"

Valka chuckles. "Well, it's my home, but it's not my home, per se. It's–"

"Mom," Hiccup interrupts with a furrowed brow and a shaking head. He draws a flat hand across his throat, a clear indicator for her to stop. "Let's ease her into it, okay? Astrid's still a little skittish where dragons are concerned."

That, at least, is true. Most of them are hanging back, watching curiously and chirruping with excitement. Toothless seems like a playful kitten one moment, and then a haughty house cat the next. He drools for Valka's attention, but he swats away other dragons with his tail, not to be bothered. The whole thing makes her a little nervous, but the shock of this stranger's identity is distracting her.

"Ah," Valka replies. Her expression dims with slight uncertainty, giving Astrid another glance, but then she wraps an arm around her son and tugs him forward. "Come. We'll talk about it inside, then. Have you eaten?"

Her stomach growls. Hiccup laughs oddly. "Not yet. Astrid can cook while we talk."

Her mouth pops open, and she watches his back accusingly as they walk ahead of her. Explanations are certainly in order, but she thinks it's fair to say that hers is slightly more urgent.

* * *

After Hiccup finishes the story of how Berk gave her up to the mercy of the mysterious Dragon Lord, Valka stares tight-lipped at her son. Her brow is deeply creased with displeasure, and she absently laces her fingers together in front of her. The chief's lost wife works her jaw and frowns.

"I can't believe it's come to that," she whispers, "I thought I'd seen the worst that cowardice had to offer."

"Things were bad," Astrid inserts, feeling the need to defend her village, despite what they've done. "Are bad. They saw it as losing one person to save dozens."

Hiccup rolls his eyes and sits back against Toothless, who's happily gnawing at an absurdly large bone. "And I'm sure they lined up to volunteer."

"Desperation doesn't justify their actions," Valka says sternly, ducking her head a little as she speaks. "It's bad enough what they do to dragons, but now they're even turning on their own kind. It's that exact kind of ignorant violence that'll be the end of our culture."

"Then they should tuck in their tails and wait to die?" Astrid shakes her head, glancing down at her lap and scavenging bits of food still clinging to her fish's skeleton. "They're running out of options."

"That's because they're stubborn," the other woman retorts more casually, sighing. "If Stoick and the rest of the council were more open to change, they wouldn't have to resort to such measures."

"Coming from somebody who left." Both Hiccup's and his mother's heads snap up at that. Astrid leisurely draws her gaze back up. "I understand that the dragons aren't what we thought, that a lot of our suffering is self-inflicted–" She pauses, shrugging and stabbing her fork at her plate. "But since I'm the only one in the room who never left Berk– well– I think I deserve the right to forgive them if I want to."

Hiccup sits up, a darkness flashing in his eyes. "And if I hadn't–"

Valka interrupts him, though, holding out a gentle hand. "That's fair." She nods, looking to the floor at Astrid's feet. "That's your decision to make. Nobody else's."

She expected a fight. But the older woman dissolved the conflict with surprising ease. A modicum of respect turns in Valka's favor.

"How long will you be staying?" she asks, giving her son a glance to pin him in place. He rolls his eyes and rests his elbows on his knees but settles.

Astrid's actually rather interested in that reply herself.

"Undetermined," he answers with a sigh, cutting his gaze away to the window-esque openings that lead to the dragons' nests. His mouth turns down at the edges. She hopes his quiet mood from yesterday isn't returning.

"Well, there's always a place for you here." His mother reaches over to run the backs of her fingers against Hiccup's hair. He doesn't look at her, but neither does he pull away. Valka turns a small smile her way. "And you, Astrid. I'm glad there's somebody to keep him company."

Keeping him company… She supposes that's an adequate summary of their relationship. She starts to return a sincere sentiment, but Hiccup suddenly dignifies them with his attention again.

"I'd rather be alone." He points a lazy finger in her direction, ignoring the shifting of the dragon beneath him. "She's demanding and spoiled and always complaining."

Astrid tilts her head, narrowing her gaze. "Maybe that's because I was kidnapped by an alcoholic in tight pants," she snips back.

"Alcoholic." Valka's brows rise.

"She's exaggerating."

"No, when I told Gus you were sober enough for work, that was an exaggeration." She could go for a lower blow, a quip about his bedroom skills or manly pride, but she's not quite brave enough to make such a comment in front of his mother. As it stands, she's biting back a few more vicious digs.

Valka keeps her gaze on Hiccup, mouth pressed into a displeased line. She looks as if she wants to say something, but she, too, is holding back. After an awkward silence, she flicks her eyes over to Astrid. "Tell me more about Berk. Are they still searching for the nest near Helheim's Gate?"

"Helheim," she hears herself echo. She sits forward, thoughts redirected. "That's where it is?"

"I could've told you that, if you'd asked."

"I didn't realize there were so many different nests," she hisses back. Her hands tighten to fists in her lap as she fixes him in a demanding stare. "If you knew, why keep it to yourself? Why not let Stoick lead the villagers to the queen?"

Mother and son exchange uncomfortable glances, sparking a tension that she realizes has nothing to do with her. Wetting her lips, Valka laces her fingers together. They're Hiccup's hands, she notices, slender and dexterous. "Besides the fact that only a dragon can find the island…" she answers slowly. "Berk cannot kill the queen. The weapons they have won't penetrate her hide, and she's too enormous for them to overtake. Sending Berkians will only result in more deaths."

"What if you led them?" Astrid scoots to the edge of her seat, setting her plate down in front of her. "Not just Berk, but all the tribes. I've seen some of your dragons– can't they help fight?"

That's when Valka shuts down. Her sympathetic expression hardens, and she stands to collect their dishes. "It's not our fight anymore," she says evenly. "We protect our own."

Astrid blinks in shock. "Your husband– your village– they're not your own? Not even the father of your son, the–"

"The man who sacrificed you to an enemy?" she interrupts, a little distressed.

They're back to this again. Astrid ignores it. "Stoick never remarried, you know. Even when the elders tried to convince him. He's always mourned you and–"

"Astrid–" her own husband interrupts, sharply cutting her off.

She looks to him with disbelief, but he lowers his gaze and gives her a curt shake of his head. Her jaw drops, and she scoffs a quiet laugh. So this is where he learned it– his apathy for Berk and its villagers. Disgusted, she stands as well, stepping around Valka and crossing the room so she can lean against the massive windows. Now she's not only overruled, she's outnumbered.

Swirling color whizzes by, a myriad of dragons flying past and playing carefree. Meanwhile, a people is dying. But this is their kind now. They've forfeited their lives as humans.

Hiccup sighs heavily, and then she hears his footsteps behind her. He places a hand on her lower back and tries to get her to meet his gaze, but she's irritated.

"It's not so clear for us," he whispers so Valka won't hear. "Mom and I… Berk hasn't been home for a long time. That doesn't mean she doesn't care. She wouldn't have asked if she didn't."

"You don't abandon those you care about," she retorts hotly. She just barely turns into his touch, almost a reflexive reaction.

"It's not that simple," he insists.

"It is!" She puts her back to the stone, partly to dislodge his hand and partly to focus him in a glare. "When you can help and you don't–"

"What do you think I'm doing, Astrid?" His volume rises a little, and he catches himself. Hiccup glances over to Valka for just a second before lowering his voice again. "What do you think I've been doing?"

She purses her mouth. This entire conversation is making her sick. But he's right, she can't deny that he's been protecting not just Berk, but half of the Barbaric Archipelago. Part of her wants to reach for him– she probably would if they were alone– but she resists.

"Berk is home for you," he presses gently. "No one ever doubted you or told you that you didn't belong. Everybody wanted you there. But it wasn't like that for us."

For a brief moment, she can hear the jeering of teenagers echoing from the past. Choruses of exasperated sighs and frustrated complaints about the chief's useless son. She wishes she didn't remember that. It makes it too easy to understand them, to see where the lines of loyalty blurred.

"Even so, they're my family. Your family."

"She can be your family," he says, taking a step forward and gesturing to the other woman. Then he seems to realize how close he's standing and clears his throat, backing up again. He rubs the back of his neck a little nervously. "I mean, if you want. I'm not asking you to forget about Berk or even stay away– I just need you to understand why they're not our priority anymore."

Astrid clenches her jaw. She'd been there– home– just a couple nights ago. To think she has information that could've helped, the truth about the dragons' nest that's plagued them for generations. She feels helpless and wrong, standing by. She wishes she'd woken her parents when she had the chance. A sudden and fierce longing for them makes her throat tight. Homesickness doesn't ease with time.

"What about you?" she asks, cutting her gaze to Valka. The woman has her back to them as she washes plates clean, and a hatchling of some unidentifiable species weaves through her legs in hopes of scraps.

Hiccup's brow creases with confusion. "What about me?"

Astrid finds it a little difficult to meet his gaze. She leans her head back and shrugs. "If she's my family, what does that say about you?"

There's a dark flash behind his green eyes, and she watches his walls go up. He's guarded in an instant. "The only family I'm good for is Toothless," he tells her shortly. "Don't take it personally."

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she looks away and nods slowly. He seems ready to say something else, but he doesn't. Instead, he scratches his jaw and walks back inside. She's left wondering about the fierce stab of disappointment in her breast.

* * *

"He's a gentle giant, Astrid, really." Hiccup laughs as he tugs on her wrist, even as she digs in her heels and tries not to trip over the dragons flocking around them with interest. "Don't be such a scaredy cat!"

She tightens her grip on his forearm and stares wide-eyed at the enormous beast casting a looming shadow over the picturesque sanctuary. The giant dragon is so massive that she'd thought it was a mountain or vast snowbank within the ice-encased island. That was, until it opened its pale blue eyes, shuddered its jawfins to displace a gaggle of young Nadders perched on its head. She hasn't seen any teeth yet, but she suspects that one fang would be twice her height. If the queen of the nest back home is anything like this monster, Valka's right– they have no chance.

"Hiccup Haddock, you will let me go or lose your hand! I mean it!" He just chuckles and pulls her forward, so she pries one of his fingers free and wrenches it back.

He yelps, dropping to his knees and releasing her arm. "Ah! Ah! I let go! I let go!" He swears when she drops the digit and takes a couple cautious steps back. Toothless and Valka snicker a few paces behind them, and the dragons sniff at her hand as if she possesses some new magic.

"You were warned," she mutters, letting a Zippleback duck into her palm for petting.

"I can train the offspring of lightning and death itself," he grunts, "But not a woman." He cradles his offended appendage close.

"Consider me untrainable," she replies with a taste of haughtiness.

Once he recovers, Hiccup jogs off to climb the hilltop at the base of the waterfall. Toothless bounds away to play with a larger species she doesn't recognize, and Valka comes to stand and watch by her side.

Hiccup seems different here. Almost a little childlike. He uses his fingers to whistle, though she can't hear it over the cacophony of rushing water and dragon noises. There's a rumbling that sounds like an earthquake, and then the behemoth– the Bewildebeast– rises from the water to its full height. Astrid hopes her squeaked gasp of fear isn't audible to the woman at her side.

"Unfathomable, isn't he?" Valka leans into her staff, a tall and intricately carved thing that looks too smooth and pale to be wooden.

"I… I can't…" There aren't any words to describe the vast creature. They're mere ants compared to this giant. Unfathomable is apt– she couldn't have imagined such a dragon even in her wildest nightmares. She watches Hiccup give the Bewildebeast an almost comedic bow, bending in half with a sweeping arm. "It's terrifying."

"Mmm," she agrees, nodding. But she's smiling as her son braces his feet against the edge of the overpass and reaches his arms as far as he can. The enormous beast dips his head just slightly so Hiccup can lean precariously against one of the fins protruding from his temple. It makes Astrid nervous. "He protects us all. Makes this a safe place for all peaceful souls."

Astrid folds her arms in front of her. Narrows her gaze at the young man risking his life to pet the massive Bewildebeast. Life with Hiccup has never been what she would call "peaceful". Fighting and arguing and trying to see who can hurt the other best. But things have also been changing between them recently. He's gentle and vulnerable when she least expects it. How much of their tumultuous relationship is still because of who they are, and how much of it is habit? She's still trying to understand how her husband is both the dark and hostile Dragon Master and the tender voice in her ear at dawn. All she knows lately is that she wants him near.

"Why didn't you come back for him?" she hears herself ask, but she has to resist flushing when she realizes she's said it aloud. "Was it because the villagers didn't agree with you? Or because you didn't want to give up your freedom?"

Valka only looks a little hurt when she turns to look at Astrid. After a moment, she quietly answers, "All of it." There's a brutal honesty that she wasn't expecting in the woman's face.

"I was tired of the fighting. With my husband, the villagers, the dragons. I was afraid of putting my family in danger because I couldn't kill a dragon, yes– but I was scared for myself too. Scared of what others thought, of what I'd do if I had to watch the violence continue…" Taking an unsteady breath, she looks down as if peering into decades long gone. "I was afraid of raising a son who'd grow to be just the same. What if he was ashamed of me? What if he hated me the way he hated dragons?"

Straightening, she gives Astrid a tight smile. "I had no way of knowing he'd be different. Like me. I couldn't have predicted he'd be alone. When Hiccup and I found each other–"

"How old was he?" she cuts in, curious.

"Seventeen." Something sad flits across her features. "He'd already experienced so much grief by then… If I had known he would've faced what he did, I never would've stayed away." She gives her son a glance rife with longing and regret. He babbles to the Bewildebeast unaware. "I thought it was for the best. Thought I'd do more harm than good by his side. You don't need to tell me I was wrong. I already know."

It's more of an answer than Astrid could've asked for. Despite herself, she almost understands Valka. She's still unsure about the woman, but at the least, Astrid can tell she's grieved the time lost with her family.

"That's why I meant it, when I said I was grateful for you." Valka sighs and begins walking towards her son and the mammoth dragon. Astrid reluctantly follows a pace behind. "He's a strong man. Stronger than he should have to be. But he's much too troubled, and it's too late for a mother to undo the damage."

She hesitates before speaking. "Valka, I'm not… Our marriage isn't what I think you want it to be." Watching the woman's lean frame, she flexes her fingers. Her hands feel too empty.

"I guessed as much when you called him a cocky drunk." There's a note of amusement in her tone.

Astrid doesn't apologize. The insult was deserved.

"He's not perfect, but he's a compassionate man." Pride strengthens her voice. "Deeply sensitive. Caring and protective. If he was anyone else, he would be much happier by now."

"I don't know what you're trying to say."

She catches a glimpse of a smile in Valka's profile. "He's compassionate, so he can't sit by idle while others suffer. He feels the need to do what no one else will, to protect those that I can't help or that can't help themselves."

"Like Berk," she supplies flatly, remembering their tense discussion from earlier. It takes her even further back, to a boy whose inventions never worked right. He was always insisting that he could make things better, easier. Trying to help long before he could lift a sword.

"Like Berk," the dragon woman repeats. "But he's not meant to be a warrior, Hiccup. He feels every loss profoundly, every wound." The pitiful croon she makes is full of sympathy. "He's been hurt in so many ways. He wants peace, but he's surrounded by violence and strife. It's easier for him to try not to feel everything he does than to be scarred by every battle." She pauses. "The drinking, though. I hadn't realized it'd gotten so bad."

"It's not so bad," she whispers, almost to herself. "Lately."

Valka pauses in her steps before they get too close to the Bewildebeast, for which Astrid is thankful. One of the dragons, a familiar four-winged type, flutters to his feet beside the woman. He blinks and inspects Astrid like a shrewd owl.

"So even if this marriage isn't a love match," she finally concludes. "I'm happy he's found someone besides Toothless that he's willing to keep by his side." She reaches up to give the dragon's chest an affectionate scratch. "Even a challenging companion is a potential wound. If he's risking the scar, he must think you're worth it."

Her heart flutters traitorously. Astrid lifts a hand to feel the excited pulse at her throat, hoping to disguise how surprised she is by Valka's evaluation. She's never considered Hiccup to be sensitive, protective, compassionate. But looking back on her time with him, it's all true. It feels like she's looking at him– now stretched out while hatchlings overwhelm him– and seeing an entirely new person. Not a frightening phantom, but a guardian. Not a callous Dragon Master, but a shield, taking blows from both sides of a bloody war.

She thinks she's starting to understand. To see the hesitation in every soft kiss he's placed on her skin. To understand why it's easier to hold a flask than her hand and communicate with kisses instead of words. She thinks her chest might burst with these new revelations, that her stomach might jump into her throat. Unexpectedly, impossibly, unfathomably, she thinks she might be falling in love with her husband.

* * *

"You should go to bed," he mutters through her half conscious daze.

She forces her heavy eyelids to lift so she can check on his sketch of a prosthetic paw for one of the dragons she'd seen hobbling happily earlier in the day. It seems to get darker sooner with the ceilings of ice above them, but even though it's pitch black, it can't be long after dinner time.

"Are you coming?"

"No."

"Then not yet."

She's stubbornly holding onto the last few moments of the day. Truthfully, she's surprised her body's so willing to fall asleep so early when she's been routinely staying awake until dawn. The exhaustion of their journey and the surprise of meeting Hiccup's mother have taken more out of her than she expected. Curling her knees closer to her chest, she sets her head back against his shoulder. They're leaning against Toothless' warm belly, and she can't honestly say that it isn't more comfortable than the promise of bed.

"I suspect he wants to tell stories about you without you overhearing." Valka gives her son a teasing glance from across the fire. Her own hands are busy changing the bandages of a Gronkle that looks nearly starved.

"All the more reason for me to stay right here," she sighs. "Discourage gossip and slander."

"I was going to tell her about Snotlout," he says quietly. The name instantly causes her smile to fall, and her throat catches as if she's swallowed a pebble. "Didn't figure you'd want to hear the story a second time."

Valka must pick up on the sharp change in their moods, because she slowly allows her content expression to contort with concern. Her next words are hushed. "What story? What's happened?"

Astrid feels Hiccup glance at her, but she doesn't meet his gaze. Nodding for him to go on, she tilts her face a little farther from the light.

Hiccup clears his throat. His voice sounds tight. "A Nightmare… killed Spitelout's son. Snotlout, Berk's heir."

Valka gasps in horror. "Hiccup…"

"He was… trying to argue with me. I was trying to distract the Nightmare, but he wanted to fight."

"What for?"

He pauses. It takes a few heart beats of empty silence, but then sick and sudden realization sets in.

"It was me, wasn't it?" Astrid feels her stomach give a nauseating lurch. "He was trying to avenge me, wasn't he?"

The way Hiccup doesn't reply says plenty. She remembers the night he told her, the surety that she was going to vomit. That feeling is returning with awful severity.

"They swarmed me," he begins again. "They would've grabbed me if Toothless and the Nightmare hadn't been so close." This is part of the tale she hasn't heard, and she almost wants to cover her ears so she won't. "Dad was holding Snotlout. He– he said he'd tear out the heart of every dragon on Berk." He chuckles humorlessly. "Then mine."

"He doesn't know," Valka murmurs.

"It wasn't your fault." Astrid's not sure she's ever told him, but it feels important that she does now. "You can't prevent everything."

"She's right," Valka agrees stiltedly, clearly still in shock.

Of course I am, she thinks. It's not your fault, Hiccup, it's mine. The reality of her childhood friend's death is almost too much to swallow. Guilt makes her ill.

"Anyways, Berk isn't safe right now." He takes a steadying breath through his nose, but she can hear the way it trembles. "I don't know what they might do in retaliation, so don't venture too far south for a while."

"I'll trust your advice," his mother nods. "Drago's trappers are lingering in the North anyhow."

Another unfamiliar name. Another piece of Hiccup's life that she doesn't know anything about. Part of her tucks the question away for a later day.

"You should've seen the look in Dad's eyes," he says in a way that tells her the comment isnt directed toward her. He sets down his sketch pad and stretches out his leg. "Like a rabid animal. Crazy."

She wants to defend him, to say that the chief wasn't always that way. But who would know that better than his wife and son? Stoick was already just barely holding the reins to the council before her sacrifice. She suspects it's near anarchy now.

"You can always tell him," Valka reminds Hiccup, wise brow raised. "I don't care what he's become, he wouldn't harm you if he knew who you were."

"Not interested." His reply is curt. He stretches an arm across Toothless' side and consequently across Astrid's shoulders. "He never listened to me when I was around. Why would he listen to me now?"

He and his mother trade glances, and a history crackles between them. Astrid's head spins– with torn ambivalence towards Berk's chief, with the truth of Snot's death, with the day's overload of information. The space that was so warm and comfortable just moments ago suddenly feels stifling.

"I think I'm going to turn in after all," she informs them, giving Toothless a fond pat before pushing to her feet. "I'm sure the two of you want to catch up without an audience."

"I'll walk you there," Hiccup volunteers with a grunt. He stands and gestures towards the twisting tunnels they'd entered through. "Be right back, Mom."

She's grateful for his guidance, because she was honestly very unsure how to make it back to the little cave he used for a room. The whole walk feels jittery, though, like some unfulfilled discussion is crackling between them. She wants to reach for his arm, but he keeps a respectful distance between them. It feels almost like being walked home after a date.

"I'm glad you brought me to meet your mom," she finally finds the words to say once they reach the cramped outlet. It's so much like their room in the mountain, just very compact. The furs are stacked in a dip in the stone wall, not quite large enough to be an alcove. There are things of his scattered on the floor, like he never left this space.

He doesn't exactly reply. Hiccup reaches for her wrist, pulling her in and resting his hands on her waist. His expression is troubled.

"If you get cold, there's more blankets in the trunk," he tells her. "The dragons don't usually come this way, but if they think your smell is weird they might come sniff you out. They won't bother you."

"Okay." She can hardly make out his features in the dark. It makes it hard to decipher what exactly he's thinking, why exactly he seems so distressed.

"It'll be easier to find your way once the sun rises," he continues. "If you need anything, you can call for my mom."

"Okay," she echoes.

She's hoping for a kiss. The gentle way he's holding her is nice, but if they're parting a kiss seems appropriate. She thinks he's considering the same thing, because he lowers his face until his breath is fanning across her mouth. His hair tickles her forehead, his warmth radiating even where they're not touching. Just before she thinks he's going to meet her mouth with his, though, he pulls away and drops a deeply unsatisfying kiss to her forehead.

"Sweet dreams," he says with a sigh. Then he lets her go, footsteps ricocheting through the dark tunnels.

Exhaustion weighs her down, and she crawls into bed with too much on her mind. Before falling asleep, though, she reaches her fingertips to her brow and traces the warm imprint his lips have left behind.

* * *

Hiccup's right– the twisting caves make much more sense during the morning, because all she has to do is follow the brightness to find a way out. Her dreams were sweet, surprisingly, despite the dour mood with which she departed for bed. And she wakes with the determination to discover more about her husband and the time he spent between Berk and this place.

"Good morning," she greets Valka when she finds the woman sitting by the fire with a cup of something steaming in her hands. The four-winged dragon– Cloudjumper– is there with her, and he licks his lips and watches wide-eyed as Astrid enters the main chamber.

The older woman looks up as if she's surprised to hear her voice, brows lifted high. But then she recovers, smiling tightly and gripping her mug a little firmer. "Good morning. You're an early riser." The sight of her white knuckles makes nervousness stir in Astrid's gut.

"Well, I'm sure I fell asleep long before you did," she says carefully. She doesn't see Hiccup, which surprises her just a little. Since he never came to bed, she'd assumed he'd stayed up all night talking with his mother or fell asleep on Toothless' belly by the fire. "Did you manage to get him up this early? How?"

Valka drops her gaze to her mug for a moment before parting her lips as if to speak. It seems like she's having difficulty finding the words. "They didn't sleep here last night."

If not with her or his mother, then where? Out in the sanctuary with the dragons? Astrid feels an uneasy dread beginning to slither up the back of her neck. Something's off about Valka's entire demeanor, and it doesn't make sense that Hiccup wouldn't have stayed in the tunnels with them.

"Where are they?" she asks, almost too afraid to hear the answer. "Where's Hiccup?"

Valka swallows hard, looking up and meeting her gaze with apologetic remorse. Her eyes are a cloudy green, not the striking viridian of her son's. She doesn't have to say it, but Astrid waits for the axe to drop anyways.

"He left," she tells her quietly and regretfully. "He's gone."


	15. Astrid XIV

**XIV.**

There's certain spots in Valka's sanctuary where the shards of ice comprising the ceiling sometime catch the sun just right. The light hits the crystalline pillars– refracts– and casts little rainbows between the translucent spires.

She's lying under one of these spots, dragging a comb through the tangled ends of her wet hair and absently watching the colors slowly shift. The grass is warm and soft beneath her, and the light chatter of the dragons sounds strangely distinct without cave walls to echo off. Surrounded by the beasts that ravage her home, and she's never seen a place more peaceful. Nowhere safer.

It's been a week since he left. She has to decide. Exhaling long and slow, Astrid closes her eyes and hides her face in the crook of her elbow.

After snapping out of her shocked stupor the morning he left, Valka sat her down with a mug of something warm and explained things in very clear terms.

"This is how he is," the woman said with a combination of tact and apology. Reluctantly, as if the hurt was written as clearly as runes on her face. "Hiccup doesn't stay in one place for long. With the same people for long."

"Did he say where he was going?" For some reason, the desperate thought of tracking him down occurred to her. She wondered if perhaps he'd gone back to his nest in the mountain, but the bag he'd packed was far too full to simply be a prop. He wouldn't go back.

"Mm," Valka replied with a shake of her head. She pushed a plate of something– breakfast– towards Astrid, but it looked and smelled startlingly unappetizing. He'd warned her not to eat his mom's cooking. At least that much, he'd had the courtesy to tell her before disappearing into the night.

She stared open-mouthed at the mug in front of her, scratching her nails over the grain of the handle's wood. It felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. A sure blow, quick and fast. Snot used to land hits like that during sparring matches in the rare moments when she lost her focus. That's what this feels like– like she took a blow aftre letting her guard down. She didn't think she needed to keep her hands up to block. Not with Hiccup Haddock.

"So, what," she heard herself scoff, but she wasn't entirely in the conversation. She was in a pile of furs in a nest far away, with someone else's forehead pressed to hers and her name on his lips. "Am I upgrading captors? Is this my reward for being a good prisoner?"

"No," Valka refuted firmly. She laid her hand flat against the stone tabletop, fingers reaching towards her. "No, you're no one's captive. Nobody's prisoner." Dipping her head to try and capture Astrid's focus, she stared intensely. "You're free to go wherever you choose. Hiccup– Hiccup won't be stopping you."

Astrid laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "Of course not." He'd only kept her from the rest of the world for months, and for what? To be told, Nevermind, have a nice life?

As if realizing she wasn't going to soften, Valka slowly pulled her fingers back and let them wrap around her own mug. "You can go back to Berk. Or anywhere– I'll take you myself."

"Can you take me back to my life before I knew your son?" The angry question leapt to her tongue before she'd even thought it through. That's the way she is– meeting insult with injury. She knew such a thing wasn't possible, and so did Valka. But that was all she wanted– to go back, do things differently. She'd hate herself, but she'd marry Snotlout. At least maybe he'd still be alive. And maybe her heart wouldn't feel quite so damn sore.

The woman lowered her gaze to her lap.

"I didn't think so."

Her eyes stung with tears of betrayal she was too stubborn to let fall. Her heart slammed in her ribcage like an angry, captured beast. But her exterior was calm. She took a tasteless sip from her mug and stared out at the lush greenery leading to the sanctuary.

"Did he say when he'd come back?" Surely even he wasn't cruel enough to avoid his mother because of another woman.

She gave another shake of her head. "Could be a few days. Could be months."

"What do you think I should do?" Astrid sat back against her seat, looking up with indifferent eyes.

Finally, Valka gave her a small smile. She nodded decisively. "I think you should stay with me, at least until you know what you want."

Which was a silly answer. Astrid knows what she wants. To scream. To tear things apart. To take him and break him for reasons she doesn't completely understand, reasons that have nothing to do with why they've hated each other this long. She also wants to cry, long and hard, to hold onto the minutes after dawn with sunlight and fingers in her hair.

But for now, watching the rainbows will do. Letting her eyes follow the slow dance of colors in the ice above will be enough to keep the wild thing in her chest from breaking free.

And speaking of wild things–

Astrid pauses in her combing to scan the shadows. A pair of yellow eyes still gleam back at her. They've been watching her all morning, sometimes shifting a few meters from one side of the shrubbery to the other. She can't be sure, what with all the new species she's still learning the names of, but she thinks it's a Nadder's dark outline.

She's tried to get it to come out, but the creature would have none of her gentle tone. When she snapped and tried to shoo it away, it just glared and hissed from its hiding spot. So she's left it alone. If it wants to watch her stare at the ceiling and yank knots from her hair, it's welcome to share in the excitement.

"Are you still stalking me?" she asks the observing orbs.

After a pause, she stretches out a hand the way Hiccup taught her. Still, the creature doesn't even fidget. She sighs and lets her arm fall, looking back to the ice above. "Whatever, dragon." Her scalp protests as she resumes dragging the comb through damp tangles. "You'll get tired of me soon. They all do."

Light dances above as the sun brightens– probably appearing from behind a cloud. She clenches her jaw against the tightening of her throat.

 _If he's risking the scar, he must think you're worth it._

In Valka's defense, she probably had no way of knowing her son would prove her wrong so quickly. But he made it very clear that night– she's not worth the risk. Not even worth a goodbye.

"Ugh," she whispers, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes at the stab of emotion. She's so volatile for some reason, bouncing back and forth between a fierce rage, debilitating sadness, and moments when she feels almost normal. She can't keep doing this– making herself miserable, moping around the sanctuary.

Inhaling slowly, she swallows the lapse in control before it can break into a sob. She just can't make sense of it– that's what drives her to insanity. Everything was fine. She caught his warm and watching eyes in the forge when he thought she wasn't looking. He left kisses and laughter on her cheeks the afternoon he showed her his flight suit. His arms found her waist in the mornings. And then one day he was done. She's sure he planned to leave her with Valka the very minute he decided to introduce them.

That night– he whispered her name and pressed his forehead to hers. Touched her tenderly and held her like she might break. Watched her fall asleep like she might disappear from his bed.

For a strange, quiet moment, a shard of clarity spears into her. He'd brushed his fingers across her cheek like he was trying to make sure she was real. Looked at her like he expected to never see her again. Exhaled so sharply and stared with the desperation of a dying man. All after she left Berk to be with him.

She came back. She had the chance to be free, but she came back for him. But he never saw that. He never saw her standing in the mouth of the cave with the light of dawn behind her. He never heard the things she thought she'd said– that she chose him. That she forsook that life for him. As far as he's concerned, she's still on Berk. She left, and to him, she never returned. So he left too.

Astrid opens her eyes. The ceiling is refracting rainbows onto her face.

Idiot.

* * *

She's made a grave mistake and she knows it. The sharp taste of acid in the back of her throat burns her tongue, and her stomach churns. Between panting breaths, her body revolts, and she chokes up still more of her lunch. A few smaller dragons come near to inspect the scene. One sniffs at the grass and sneezes. Another purrs sympathetically against her knee.

Astrid officially decides that only she will handle the cooking from now on. Sure, it's nice when Valka greets her in the morning with breakfast or has dinner prepared by the time she rouses from a nap. But this is becoming a regular thing– hiding on her hands and knees while she vomits or dry heaves as quietly as possible. It can't go on. Just the smell of mackerel is enough to make her gag lately.

"Gods," she mutters, spitting a mouthful of bitter saliva and attempting to catch her breath. Using the back of her trembling hand, she dabs clammy sweat away from her forehead. She should get up and head back inside, but she feels weak. She slumps against the cool, slick wall instead.

Her mother knows the perfect tea for nausea. The thought of eating makes her ill, but she remembers being a little girl and chewing on soft brown bread to settle her stomach. Sometimes she'd pretend to feel bad just to connive a roll and extra attention from her parents. She can almost remember the sensation of warm, dry hands pushing back her bangs and smoothing over her hair. Now she really does feel sick, and there's no comforts of home to be found.

She's considered going back to Berk. It's the only thing that makes sense. Meals there were sparse, considering the severe food shortage, but at least everything she ate stayed down. Her body couldn't afford to refuse the calories. And the ache for her family only grows stronger in Hiccup's absence. His mother, while wise and kind and interesting, is no substitute for her own.

But the idea of returning to her island is no longer ideal. Even though her family is there, it's not home anymore. How does she explain that Snotlout died trying to protect her from a captor who doesn't even want her? That it was her own stubbornness that got him killed? How can she look Ruffnut or Spitelout in the eye? And how would she let the chief go on thinking his family is dead?

She couldn't. So, cowardly as it is, she waits in Valka's dragon sanctuary. When Hiccup returns, she'll let her broken heart bleed all over him. Until then, she can't go back.

The sound of her name suddenly breaks through her thoughts. Astrid sits up, alarmed, wiping her mouth on her forearm and scrambling to her feet.

"I'm out here!" She stumbles over her own feet at first, but then finds the coordination. Hatchlings nipping at her heels, she runs towards Valka's voice, ducking inside the cool caves and navigating the tunnels she's learning by heart.

The older woman left immediately after lunch to track down a flock of migrating dragons that were due to pass through a set of islands frequented by trappers. That was only a few hours ago, so there must be an emergency if she's returned so early.

Valka's already in the main room when Astrid stumbles inside, and she's guiding Cloudjumper towards the table they'd just eaten at a little while ago. He has his inner wings folded around a sharply-whining creature, gently depositing the dragon as carefully as possible on the smooth stone. It's a young Changewing, not quite a hatchling but definitely not full grown. He flails and squirms despite the soothing way Valka's trying to speak to him, and blood spurts and drips from deep wounds in his neck and shoulder.

"What happened?" she asks, immediately going for the healing kit kept in a basket by the supplies.

"Trap. I heard him scream when it happened." The older woman has to be firm with the Changewing, holding his neck tightly to dodge snapping jaws. "I know it hurts, love. Steady, steady…" Cloudjumper uses a paw to hold the young one in place while his rider pets and whispers to him. Valka just barely ducks away from a spray of acid.

Astrid is becoming used to these sorts of disasters. Sick or injured dragons fighting out of fear or pain. Valka doesn't even flinch anymore, but Astrid's still a little wary. She tries not to let it show as she sets down the basket and helps to hold the Changewing's mouth shut. "What can I do?"

Valka first grabs a roll of linen from the kit, wrapping the dragon's jaws shut with capable hands. "He's small, so he won't be much trouble. Just comfort him for now."

She's good at taking orders. She's done it for years on Berk. Leaning over the struggling beast, she strokes his neck and tries to avoid the gouges in his flesh. "Hey, it's okay. We're going to fix it. We're going to make it better."

His whines become sharper after his mouth has been secured shut, but his squirming lessens. Astrid croons and whispers words of encouragement and sympathy, trying not to get in Valka's way as she works.

It takes at least an hour for the experienced dragon rider to clean and sew up the Changewing's puncture wounds. Even that hour seems to stretch all evening, though. Every muffled yelp or tremble makes Astrid's heart squeeze. It's difficult, standing by and feeling useless while someone else takes the lead, especially when the creature beneath her is scared and hurting. He starts to get a little dazed, and they both begin to fear the blood loss will be too much, but the Changewing maintains consciousness through the whole process. By the time Valka sets down the sewing needle and sits back into a chair, Astrid's knees are screaming and her legs are aching. She stays by the dragon's side, though, even after Cloudjumper pulls his paw away.

"I don't understand trappers," Astrid says a little spitefully as she pets the weakened dragon. "Dragon meat isn't eaten widely. Their horns and bones don't sharpen easily enough to be good weaponry. What's the point of hunting to wound, not kill?"

Valka sighs deeply, using her own fingertips to caress the poor creature's forehead. "There are men who know how to intimidate dragons into obeying their command. Men who use them to gain power."

"Like Drago?" She's heard the name several times now. Enough to know about the madman's violence and bloodthirsty trappers.

"Like Drago."

Frowning, Astrid stands and gathers a few small fish from one of the food baskets. She holds one out to the Changewing, who sniffs cautiously before gently taking the tiny offering and swallowing it down. Brows furrowed, she drops a kiss on the dragon's shoulder. "Don't worry, we're gonna take care of you," she murmurs. It eats another fish from her hand, but ignores the third. Tossing it to Cloudjumper, she sits on the floor and leans her head against the table.

"It's hard on Hiccup too." There's a little bit of a smile in Valka's voice, along with the exhaustion that follows an intense adrenaline rush. When Astrid looks up, the corner of her mouth is lifted. "Maybe harder. He feels their pain too deeply."

That doesn't surprise her. The way he looks after his dragons, and the scales tattooed into his skin– she knows he experiences loss in a way she doesn't. She glances towards the tunnels, as she's wont to do when she thinks of him. She won't let herself admit she hopes to see him in the doorway.

"He used to drive me crazy," she confesses, emotionally raw and ragged from the past two weeks. It makes her say things she normally wouldn't. "When we were kids. He didn't– he was so inconsiderate!" Laughing a little at the memories, she rubs her face and shakes her head. "Always causing trouble and getting in the way."

Valka chuckles to herself, but there's a little sadness in her grey-green eyes. She lets her body go slack in her chair. "And now?"

Astrid shrugs one shoulder. "Guess I realized he's not that boy anymore. And I'm not that girl."

The older woman makes a noise of acknowledgement and nods. They sit in silence, listening to the shallow breaths of the Changewing. At least for this conversation, it doesn't hurt to talk about him.

* * *

"I found him and Toothless trying to free a ship of dragons by themselves."

Valka scratches the Terror that's curled up in her lap. Astrid can't see her face, but her tone is nostalgic, and she looks into the distance as if glancing into the past. "I was shocked– to see another dragon rider, to see a Night Fury. It took me a moment to recover. Once I did, though, we jammed the cages together and got them all out alive. We were both so confused and surprised– we hardly got a few miles before we touched down to introduce ourselves."

It's been a quiet night, slow and uneventful. Neither of them could sleep, and Valka kept pushing back frizzy hair from her face and sighing with exhaustion. Eventually Astrid inspected her braids closely– noted the matted knots, the frayed ends, the poorly kept plaits. It was clear that the woman had given up on trying to keep her hair neat a long time ago. So a trade was proposed– she'd cut and style Valka's hair in exchange for Hiccup's story.

"Och– realizing he was mine… My son, my Hiccup… I was so overwhelmed, I could hardly speak. I'm sure he thought I was half feral by that point." She exhales an amused noise. "He was confused, understandably. Wary and curious. But he was in a lonely place. I think we found each other just when we needed to."

Astrid doesn't speak or interrupt, heart beating a little quickly to hear the beginning of a tale she only knows the end to. She unties the ends of Valka's hair, uses scissors and a comb to work through the tangles.

"He didn't open up for a while. He loved the sanctuary– loved the dragons and my cause. I was so thrilled to learn that all this time, he'd taken after me, and so ashamed– I think he didn't want to add to my guilt by telling me all he'd been through." And there is guilt in her voice, something she doesn't reveal easily. "Things like that, though, they don't stay hidden for long. Eventually one night he told me everything, from growing up with Stoick to wandering alone with Toothless."

"I know he made the mountain nest after meeting you," Astrid mumbles as she works. "But I don't know anything about where he went after he left Berk, or what he was doing when you found each other."

"He traveled." The Terror hops down from her lap, trotting around Astrid's legs before flopping to his belly next to the fire. "For the first year, he struggled to find a place to stay. He was so idealistic– hoping he could convince others that the dragons weren't what they thought." Her tone turns wry. "You can imagine how well that went. He was chased out of villages, ostracized and persecuted. He and Toothless slept in the wild, in the rain and snow, because he couldn't find a town that would accept his way of thinking. They lived off of what fish and game Toothless could catch. They only had each other."

That answers a question Astrid had. Why he didn't try talking to someone before leaving home. Why he didn't try convincing his father to listen or confiding in one of the teenagers. Would she have listened? Or would she– like the hostile villagers he encountered– ignore him and hunt him down. Truly, she doesn't even have to guess.

"Eventually, Hiccup realized that people like us– we'll never be welcome in Viking society." Valka speaks with a little bitterness, and her own experiences with their culture hangs between them. "He realized that if he was going to live among them, he would have to hide his dragon and his beliefs. So he did. Found a busy island within the archipelago, took on a job as a blacksmith's assistant and got a room at an inn. He worked, spending the mornings at the forge and his evenings with Toothless in secret. Much like he had on Berk. When the raids came, he found ways he could protect the dragons without hurting anyone– causing accidents or distractions, luring the creatures away… Everyone thought he was strange, but he had a way of making the dragons behave. They assumed it was normal his home island, a different kind of dragon training.

"He didn't enjoy living in hiding, but he liked it there. He made friends, earned money, grew close to the inn keeper and his family." Valka winces a little when Astrid's comb accidentally snags on a matted clump, but she swallows down the sound. "Mm– he was close to the inn keeper's daughter. Helena. She was something like his first love, I think."

That makes Astrid look up. Her hand hovers over a lock of brunette strands. Trying to sound casual, she comments, "I've never heard about her."

"Oh, he doesn't like to talk about it all. Still a sore spot. But the way he spoke about their relationship, they were very dear to one another. A first for each other in many ways." She pauses, and a new hint of disdain colors her story. "I think, to this day, it's because of her that he has such a difficult time trusting people. I wish I could undo what she's done."

An emotion strangely echoing with notes of protectiveness and jealousy rattles in Astrid's chest. She returns to her work, frowning. "What did she do?"

For a long moment, Valka's quiet. Then she begins again. "They suffered raids much like Berk's," she explains. "And during one of them, a mother dragon was killed. Hiccup found her nest in an uninhabited part of the island. After a while, he realized what had happened and took it upon himself to protect the eggs. Other dragons discovered him and banded together to look out for this little nest. He told me all about it– how different species took turns warming and guarding the eggs, even though it's not in their nature to protect the young of competition. He was so excited, so proud. He was sixteen years old, and he thought things were finally falling into place. His relationship with this girl, finding a new home, seeing dragons working together for a cause. It gave him a dangerous kind of hope."

"What made it dangerous?"

"Because trying to bring humans and dragons together is always a dangerous idea." She sighs low and lifts a hand to feel at the back of her head. The worst of the matted or dead hair has been cut away, and she momentarily pats the healthy strands with curiosity. Then she settles back into her chair and shakes her head.

"He put too much faith in her. He thought he could trust her, depend on her. Reveal his secrets to her after months of growing close. So he showed her the nest– the eggs and the dragons surrounding it. He believed her when she said she wasn't afraid or angry. He didn't think her reaction went any further than shock."

A cold dread sinks into Astrid's bones. She hopes it's just an over reaction, but she has a sickening feeling that it isn't. What would she have done, if she had been Helena? Young and afraid of the dragons attacking her home? Infatuated with this strange young man, but taken aback when he reveals his true alliances?

"She told," she breathes unsteadily. Her hands shake a little in Valka's hair.

"You haven't heard this story before?"

Astrid wets her lips and lifts her chin a little. She hopes her voice doesn't tremble when she says, "No. But I can relate."

The fire hisses as a dissolving log tumbles aside.

"Yes. She told." Valka sighs. "Hiccup was arrested. They tried to capture Toothless, but he escaped. And the band of dragons, the eggs– they were all destroyed."

Her gut wrenches. Astrid swallows hard, setting down the scissors in her hand and running her fingers through trimmed, cool strands. She's afraid to stop working, to let the other woman know how much this story is affecting her.

She's not just the girl from his home village, to Hiccup. She hasn't been for five years. With sudden surety, she realizes that every time he looked at her for those first few weeks in the mountain caves, he remembered the girl who betrayed him. Wondered if she, too, would be his ruin.

"What did they do to him?"

"Nothing severe, that I know of." Valka's tone is flat. "They had him imprisoned for a few days, and then Toothless helped him break free."

She feels sick again, and this time it has nothing to do with his mother's terrible cooking. It's a deeper nausea that churns with guilt and horror. The scales– are those unborn dragons stabbed into his skin along with every other tattoo she ran her fingertips over? She pictures the little Nightmares from inside the volcano and feels a wave of tragedy at the thought of their murders.

"What happened to her– the girl?" She begins braiding Valka's hair with clumsy fingers, having to start over several times because of the numbness in her hands.

"I don't believe he trusted himself to face her again. He was crushed, and angry. They left the island, and I doubt he ever looked back."

"Is that when you found him?"

Valka shakes her head just a little. "No. From there, he went south. Wanted to get away from Viking culture, I'd imagine. But he was much more nomadic, never staying in one place for long. It was another year or more before I met him."

Astrid reaches for the leather cord on the seat next to Valka and ties her plaits in place. Carefully pressing stray strands into place, she smooths back the woman's hair and distractedly deems herself finished. Maybe she's rushing, but she's anxious to hear the rest of Hiccup's history. She steps over the log Valka is sitting on and sits down across from her.

"I have some questions. Like his tattoo– when did he have that done?"

Valka reaches up to feel the back of her head, and her brows rise. She lifts her gaze to the girl's face. "Marriage braids," she notes, though Astrid's not sure if it's meant to be a question.

"Sorry," she winces, realizing she might have made a mistake. "It's just habit now."

The older woman gently inspects the style for a moment longer, but then she drops her hand and exhales, redirecting her focus. "The scales– he discovered tattooing in a small country below the Barbaric Archipelago." Lacing her fingers together, she narrows her gaze thoughtfully as she stares into the fire. "It's a much more popular practice in warmer climates, where they don't have to wear as many layers."

"I've seen a couple before," she says. "But none like his."

Valka nods. "His were done by the elder of a village he frequented. From what I understand, they weren't afraid of dragons– if anything, they feared and respected them. The elder treated Hiccup and Toothless well, took them under his wing. They never stayed more than a week or two at a time, but they visited often, and when they did, he always spent time advising and mentoring Hiccup. The village became another safe place.

"It was there that the elder– I can't remember his name now– began impressing upon Hiccup the importance of peace and forgiveness." Valka lifts her chin a little, brows furrowing just slightly. "I was told it was difficult to accept his teachings, but they were a little bit of a light in a dark moment for him. Instead of carrying around the deaths of dragons in his heart and holding them against his people, he had them inked into his skin, so he could carry them there without hurting so much."

Astrid remembers a flash of Hiccup's bare back– the red and tender outline of Snotlout's scale on the muscles beneath his shoulder blade. It must have become practice for him, searing his skin so that he can leave the pain on the surface instead of internalizing it.

"Why didn't he stay?" she hears herself ask, though she's far too distracted by memories of scales and the way they taste on her lips.

"I think he considered it several times. There was a couple there with a young child that he adored. A swordsman who inspired his Inferno, taught him how to fight and defend himself." Another flash of despair darkens her expression. "But the peace the elder spoke about didn't last. They were invaded by a neighboring country. Hiccup was there to witness his death."

The first empty scale.

Astrid's speechless, unable to even ask one of the thousand questions flitting through her mind. Valka moves on quickly.

"That's when he returned to the archipelago. Flew even further, found me and Cloudjumper." There's a note of fondness in her voice now, a warmth. Astrid's head is still spinning, but there's even more, it would seem, to discuss. "We were happy for a while. We needed each other desperately, and we were able to fill at least some of the empty holes left inside one another."

Valka gestures towards the windows, towards the dark and quiet inner sanctuary. "We rescued and healed and rehabilitated dragons together. Toothless' tailfin and Hiccup's smithing skills meant entirely new possibilities for some of our inhabitants. He had a home again, and I had my son back."

"He seems to care about you a lot," Astrid mumbles, thinking of the sincere fondness in Hiccup's eyes when they first arrived and he introduced the two women.

"Mm," Valka nods with a smile. Straightening, she rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck. When she rubs them, she looks a lot like her son. "Some of my happiest memories are in those two years." She clears her throat, though, and it's obvious that she's uncomfortable with the next part of the story. "We didn't always agree, though. He wanted to stop Drago, I wanted to stay out of his way. He wanted more peaceful methods of rescuing dragons, and I've had enough experience to know what doesn't work. Eventually Toothless killed a trapper to protect him. That shook Hiccup."

That tale, at least, she knows. The Night Fury and his rider would do anything for each other, kill each other's species or even their own.

Glancing down, Valka sighs quietly. "He wanted to travel back to the archipelago. Act as a sort of buffer between Vikings and dragons until they could learn to get along."

"But you don't believe they can," Astrid finishes, trying not to let a little steel into her statement. She pulls at the knot of her bindings behind her, not looking at Valka as she tries to adjust the too-tight fabric digging into her flesh.

There's a beat of silence. Then, "No." The other woman continues. "I think the work I'm doing is more important. The Vikings have hundreds of supporters. The dragons have two."

"Three," she interrupts, keeping her gaze averted.

Another pause. Astrid can feel her eyes watching. "Three," Valka replies warmly. "Still, the odds are vastly uneven. I couldn't agree with Hiccup or go with him like he wanted. So he decided to make a life for himself closer to Berk– the life he's been living for a few years now."

"It's not exactly the picture of stability," she mutters under her breath.

That makes the older woman laugh. "Oh, I'm well-acquainted with Hiccup's habits. He comes back to see me every few months. We write. He's practically nocturnal, that one. I didn't know his drinking had become so bad, but he's always had a taste for it. And women– he likes having a companion to go to, though I'm sure he wishes I didn't know about that."

"Ugh." She doesn't mean to say that out loud, but it does.

That just makes Valka even more amused, her giggling sounding almost young and girlish. She wonders how long it's been since this woman's had another female to talk with. "Don't tell me that's jealousy I hear!"

Astrid flushes. She tries not to glare, keeping her words level and clipped. "It's– I'm not jealous. He's married to me. Any wife would be bothered with her husband's unfaithfulness."

"Is he?" she asks with a little less enthusiasm. "Unfaithful?"

If possible, heat burns her cheeks even hotter. Astrid stammers a bit, and then folds her arms across her chest self consciously. "I don't… Not that I know of. I'm pretty sure he was sleeping with this girl on Bulg–"

"Ingrid?"

She's floored. Her jaw drops a little, and she narrows her gaze at Valka. So that's how it is? Even his mother knows her name? "Yeah. Ingrid." After pausing to grit her teeth, she inhales through her nostrils and tries not to show her annoyance. "I think he's cut things off with her. He told her we're married, and he's been spending nights with me, not staying out or anything. But I guess I don't really know him as well as I thought. I didn't even see this coming."

By this of course, she means being left behind. She thinks that's what's brought the sudden twist in Valka's features, the confusion and crinkled brow. An expression of concern, perplexity. But the following silence drags on too long, and the eyes that remind her of Hiccup's stay on her face, unmoving.

Then her lips slowly part, and she says, "Sleeping in separate beds, correct?"

Astrid's heart does a stupid little trip out of pure embarrassment. She fidgets uncomfortably, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Not always. We were– ah– married." Her gaze flits around the room, looking everywhere but Valka's face. "It wasn't like we were in love or anything, but we were… y'know… intimate."

The ensuing quiet is deeply unsettling. At first she's just mortified, having to admit such a thing to the mother of the man she'd been sleeping with, but the longer it stretches on, the more defensive she becomes. Why is she still looking at her like that? Is she angry? Is Valka's son suddenly too good for her, the dragon killer?

The older woman stands, patting her braids absently as she crosses the room and begins straightening things. It's clear that she's just looking for a way to busy her hands.

Astrid stands too, jaw tight. "What? He told you I was unattractive and undesirable?"

"Not in so many words," Valka answers honestly. There's a little force in the way she rearranges supplies. "I didn't believe him, of course, but I didn't think you had– I'm just surprised."

Insecurity cuts through her like a knife, and she self-consciously rubs her arms, standing in the middle of the room feeling suddenly stupid and ashamed. "It's not like we're not considered husband and wife by Berk. Stoick gave me away himself."

Valka turns on her heel, eyes wide. "Did you think–? Oh, I'm not upset with you, dear." She attempts a smile. "You and Hiccup are adults, and it's none of my business how you handle your relationship. I was simply under the impression that… that things were more platonic on his part."

"Because he left," Astrid nods. Understandable. She feels slightly less offended, though no less embarrassed. She stares at the floor and digs the toe of her boot into a notch in the stone. "Don't worry, you're probably right."

Sympathy shifts in the other woman's features. She sets down the basket lid in her hands and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Astrid. It's not my place to pry. If you're taking precautions, there's no reason for anyone else to get involved."

Precautions. That word sticks out as if it was spoken in a foreign tongue. What sort of precautions? Of course, precautions against conceiving, surely, but what kinds of options does she have? Did she have? She's heard of moon tea– is that rumor or real? How is it made? How effective is it? Had anyone suggested that before they shoved her in a pretty dress and tied ropes around her wrists?

The flurry of sudden confusion must show in her blank expression. The longer the pause between them stretches, the more worry darkens Valka's gaze. She takes a step forward.

"You have, haven't you?" Nodding a little, as if to encourage the answer she wants to hear, she slowly draws near. "Been careful?"

Astrid's thinking back, trying to remember if anything her mother whispered the morning she was taken meant anything important. She'd been so angry, she'd tuned out half the things the ladies of the village said– who was to know whether there was any useful information among those apologies and poor things. Her heart's racing a little, and she wishes Valka would stop looking at her so she could think.

"I…"

Of course, at the time, nobody expected her to live through the night. She'd been a little afraid herself. They were sacrificing her to a ghost, a demon. A devil on a Night Fury, a masked ghoul. Why would she need to worry about preventing anything if she wasn't going to be alive much longer anyways? And her– she was determined that if she lived, she'd fight and ensure there'd be no need to fear for her maidenhood. It wasn't a priority. It wasn't a concern.

"Astrid?"

Gods, she feels embarrassed. Her face is hot, and she swallows something hard in her throat. "It's– I didn't know I could," she confesses as steadily as she can. "I didn't think…"

She really should have. Thought about it more. But the past few months in the mountain nest haven't felt like reality. More like a dream, or a nightmare, depending on who's looking in. If she's honest, when she let Hiccup into her body and her heart, she wasn't thinking about the long term relationship or any future consequences. For the first time in her life, she wasn't worried for her safety or her village, and she was allowed to just exist in the moment she was living.

Astrid glances up at Valka, and there's an apprehension in the other woman's face. Something she should say but doesn't want to. "Your bloods, they've been normal?"

The girl's brows climb higher. "No, it's not…" She has to take a few steps away, laughing a little nervously. Straightening her bangs, she shrugs and counts days on her hand. "I mean, okay, they're a little late, but it's not a big deal– my last month was early!" She remembers clearly because it'd been so odd– shorter and lighter than she'd ever experienced before. She'd chalked it up to her body adjusting to the newness of sex, just the changes that come with becoming a woman.

Valka's following her when she tries to walk away, reaching a hand that Astrid pretends not to see. "How have you been feeling? Tired? Hungry? Nauseous?"

"No," she lies, turning her back to Hiccup's mother. The exhaustion– that's just the change in her environment, the result of too much happening in the past several weeks. And she's certainly not hungry. The meals as of late– and the experience of vomiting them up afterwards– have done plenty to put her off her appetite.

"Maybe a little. But I'm sure there's a perfectly good–"

She's so distracted that she doesn't realize Valka's come so near. The older woman gently tugs on her elbow, pulling her around to face her, and then she reaches for Astrid breast. In the middle of the room, she's groped by her (ex?) husband's mother.

She yelps at the sudden pain, smacking the older woman's arm in reflex. Pushing away, she covers herself protectively and stares in almost angry bafflement.

"Sore?" Valka's voice is trembling but firm. She raises a thin brow that reminds her of Hiccup.

Astrid feels her bindings digging into the tender flesh with every breath. Her breasts have felt heavy and aching lately, yes. Swollen and painful if jostled. She's sure that her answer shows on her face, so she doesn't bother replying.

From the minute she met Valka, she's known that the woman has no sense of personal space. Astrid's reminded yet again as Valka pulls her arm away and presses clinically at her bosom. Every touch responds with a twinge of discomfort.

"When I was pregnant with Hiccup, I couldn't stand to wear my bindings." That word feels like an arrowhead in Astrid's gut. "I would stay in the house because I didn't want to get dressed in the mornings. They're uncomfortable?"

"Yes," she whispers honestly.

Valka lets her hand hover. Moving to rub the girl's arms comfortingly, she takes a deep breath. "Put on something warm. We should find you a healer."


	16. Astrid XV

**XV.**

"There's a Nadder stalking me."

Astrid takes a bite of what must be her third pear, licking the juice from her lips and examining the marks left behind by her teeth. She feels bad for eating so much of the fresh fruit Valka purchased while they were in town, but she can't seem to stop herself. After weeks of bland fish, pears taste like ambrosia from the gods. So she eats fruit. Fruit and bread and chunks of sharp cheese.

Valka looks up from Cloudjumper's claws, pausing with the file still in hand. "Stalking? How so?"

She swallows, adjusting her arm around her legs. She has her knees pulled to her chest and her head leaned back against the stone wall. "I dunno. It's really weird. Whenever I'm by myself, she stares at me. If I move, she'll follow from a distance. But she won't come close enough for me to feed her or pet her."

Returning to her grooming work, Valka chips at mud clotted between her Stormcutter's talons. "Is she a light blue? With a few dabs of orange and yellow?"

"You know her?"

"I call her Stormfly," Valka replies with a hum of amusement. "She's not very social. I think she was caged for several years. She was severely malnourished when I found her, and she wouldn't let me close enough to look at her abrasions."

Astrid thinks of the wary Nadder that constantly lurks in the corners of her vision. Timid and a little hostile. Probably abused by Vikings until her rescue. "How long has she been here?"

"Mm, maybe a year now?" She scrubs as Cloudjumper purrs with satisfaction. "Not long, relatively speaking."

"And she still doesn't let you near?"

Valka shakes her head. "She hardly interacts with the other dragons. Deadly Nadders are very prideful creatures, and social. Always preening and showing off their tails, helping one another groom. She sticks to the shadows, though. Very shy. Very reserved."

"Hmm." Astrid contemplates Stormfly's strange behavior as she takes another large bite of her pear. Juice dribbles down her chin, and she uses the heel of her palm to wipe it away.

"A little like you," Valka suddenly chuckles. "Pretty and proud, but a little rough around the edges. A survivor."

She slows in her chewing. "What makes me rough?"

Valka glances up with a conspiratorial smile. "You don't put up with Hiccup's nonsense. You speak your mind, even if your opinions aren't well-received. And you throw blows to do damage. You fight."

"You have to, on Berk." Swallowing, she shrugs. She won't think about the children back home who are learning this lesson every day. Watching people suffer the way she did, going hungry and living in fear. "Fight or die."

"You're not on Berk anymore." For a second, the sound of her filing and Cloudjumper's warbling settles between them like a tablecloth floating above a tabletop, a sharp snap and a slow descent. "You would be safe here," she goes on to say. "You and your babe won't have to fight to survive."

Astrid turns the pear in her fingers, frowning distractedly. "I'll think about it."

For a while, they rest in silence. The news is still new enough to bring tension into the room. An awkward, uncomfortable quiet. She's not sure what there is to say, what's left to discuss. Every conversation leaves her feeling foolish and brittle.

"I sent a tracking dragon with a message," Valka informs her. "He deserves to know as soon as possible." There's no point in specifying who he is.

Astrid knows she's right, but that assurance doesn't do anything to calm the panic clawing at her throat whenever she thinks about facing Hiccup. In the same breath, she prays for his quick return. Maybe when she sees his face, it won't seem so terrifying, like the moment he removed his helmet and revealed that he was the fearsome Dragon Master. Maybe he can breathe oxygen back into her lungs. She has to believe that he left out of fear of betrayal or abandonment, and she has to believe he'll know that's not an option for her anymore. Maybe he'll trust her, finally.

Running her tongue over her teeth, she twists the pear's stem until it breaks off in her fingers. "Are they fast, usually? The tracking dragons?"

"Mm," Valka nods. She pauses in her work, glancing over, and Astrid can feel her gaze on the face she tries to keep indifferent. "It'll be alright, Astrid. Hiccup's a good man."

"Is he?"

She glances up to meet the woman's plaintive grey eyes. Her heart beats a little quicker, sore and nervous and hollow. For a moment, they stare, neither yielding. It's almost like the first night, a tension between them. Then she tosses the pear stem over her shoulder and continues nibbling absently.

"Sorry for eating all the fruit."

The corners of Valka's mouth tip upwards, but there's a distance in her expression that's still hard to read. "For the mother of my grandchild, I'd plant a pear tree."

She resists the urge to press her palm into her belly and imagine it all away.

* * *

She's pretty sure her mother wouldn't turn her away if she came home pregnant. The way her fingernails had been claws in the girl's arm the night she was sacrificed, the breathy tears she'd choked back while lacing her dress– her mother was crushed to give her away. Her father is more of an unpredictable factor, but surely her mother would be an advocate for their daughter and her bastard child.

The conundrum would be deciding what to tell them about the child's father. It's been several days, and they haven't heard from Hiccup. She's starting to assume his absence is his answer. She hasn't even had the chance to tell him she's pregnant, and already, he's refused her. In that case, she might be able to tell Berk that she escaped from the Dragon Master and his cruelty. Let them all continue to believe in the ghost they think they know. They'd fight for her, if it ever came to it– if he ever came looking for her. They might even send a party out for his head. But could the conflict end without bloodshed?

Doubtful.

There's another option. She could tell them the truth. That the phantom who took her proved himself to be Stoick's lost son. That he's been living with a band of dragons just hours from Berk. That he charmed her into his bed– more than once– and then gave her away to Stoick's kidnapped wife. She could tell that impossible tale of shame and woe. If they believed her, she'd never be able to face the village again. If they didn't, she'd be a madwoman tortured to insanity.

Astrid sighs and closes her eyes but lets her hands continue scrubbing the cast iron pan half-submerged in the water. The sloshing and splashing spatters her leggings, but she hardly notices the warm droplets. She's lived the past couple of weeks inside her head. The bristled brush in her hand is an extension of her arm, and her body works while her mind is elsewhere.

If she looks at the situation rationally, there's no reason she should return to her home village. There's guaranteed meals here in Valka's home, safety and understanding. She's pretty sure none of the dragons would eat the baby, or at the least, she wouldn't have to worry about the destruction of raids. It's isolated, true, but there are islands just a couple hours' flight south. Ideal, really, from a logical perspective.

But there's also the possibility of Hiccup returning at any moment. Maybe a few months from now, when her body has changed but her heart hasn't. Or maybe years from now, while she has a toddler balanced on her hip or a hyperactive little one racing through the cavern. Her own feelings aside, she can't imagine the scene that would be sure to follow if he discovered his child, born years ago and living with his own mother. No. If he's decided to cut her out completely, she doesn't ever want him trying to reintegrate himself in her life. And she doesn't want to raise a child with Valka, always reminded of him and their history.

Her hands go still in the wash bucket, and she drops both the pan and the brush with a sigh. Reaching up to brush her bangs away from her forehead, Astrid sniffs and leans her elbows on her knees. She stares at the cloudy water in front of her, the puddles in the grass surrounding it. They all reflect the same image– the pale and weary face of a girl who used to be a warrior.

A nudge to her back makes her jolt, and she twists to see what hatchling has tried to get her attention. When she turns, though, it's not a little dragon wiggling playfully behind her– it's the tall and fierce Nadder staring down with yellow eyes. Astrid gasps a little, years of reflex making her ball her hands into fists. The alarm only lasts a moment, though, and then she's breathing through her surprise.

Stormfly seems even larger up close, looming so close she's casting a shadow over the girl. Her head is ducked, exhaling warmth into Astrid's face, and her tail sweeps back and forth behind her.

"Hey," she whispers, keeping her voice low so as not to startle the dragon.

She tries to reach upwards to introduce herself with her hand, the way Hiccup taught her, but the Nadder flinches backwards and hisses. Before Astrid can try again, she flutters her wings and steps around to the girl's other side. Stormfly bumps the wash bucket with her horn.

"Are you thirsty?" she asks, unsure. Moving slowly and cautiously, she points a finger to the giant lake in the center of the sanctuary. "That water tastes better. You don't want this water."

Stormfly squawks unhappily, trying to gnaw at the edge of the bucket. Astrid leans back when it almost spills towards her. Part of her wants to stand, to be on even ground, but she's sure if she does, the Nadder will bolt. It's taken her this long just to approach her. Finally, Stormfly manages to overturn the bucket, and the few dishes inside clank noisily.

While Astrid moves her knee from the small river of dirty water, the dragon sniffs and picks at the dishes with one talon. "Food?" she tries again, wondering if the dragons have learned to associate the plates and pans with the humans' meals. "I don't have anything to eat in here."

Stormfly makes another disgruntled chirp, nudging the bucket until it's completely empty. Then she tries to grab something with her mouth and fails. Stepping backwards, she scratches at the hard-bristled brush until she can grip it. It's promptly deposited in Astrid's lap.

The blonde stares at the Nadder, blinking down at the soaking wet offering. When she doesn't immediately pick it up, Stormfly bends down and snuffles at Astrid's head. She catches the gleam of sharp teeth out of the corner of her eye and flinches, but the dragon only gently nibbles at her braids.

Astrid's hand flies to her hair so quickly that Stormfly screeches and flutters backwards. Eyes wide, the girl pats her braids and feels the new frizz where the Nadder's pulled strands loose. "You want me to brush it!" she blurts with realization. Valka had mentioned that this species is fond of grooming, and she's watched more than one Nadder preen in their little groups.

She tugs at a pin or two, letting plaits tumble over her shoulder, but she holds up the brush so Stormfly can see. "I can't use this brush," she explains with a shake of her head. "It's not for hair."

Stormfly squawks and bobs her head for her to do it anyways. She's being held up by a dragon.

"It's not for people," she says apologetically. Holding one palm outward, she carefully extends the brush towards the Nadder's tail. There's a sharp slicing, and the poison darts erupt, making Astrid jump back. But after a steadying exhale, she reaches again. She carefully brushes the bases of the threatening spines, lifting her gaze. "See? It's for scrubbing?"

Stormfly's head tilts. She makes a clicking sound that causes her lower jaw to flutter, but it's not a threatening noise. Blinking, the dragon inches her tail a little closer, darts still protruding.

"Does that feel good?" she asks a little breathily, glancing back down and making sure she doesn't poke herself as she works around the dangerous points. She keeps one hand held in the air, proving that she's not trying to be aggressive. A smile, awed and proud, starts to tug at the corners of her mouth.

For a while, the Nadder just stares and watches as Astrid uses the brush to wash between the prickly spines. Then after a little bit, she finally tucks her wings close and settles down like a bird at its perch.

Maybe, she thinks, there's more than one way to train a dragon.

* * *

She stirs when a hot, fishy breath snuffles at her face. It rouses her from a nightmare that leaves her panting and disturbed. She'd been giving birth to a half-human, half-dragon creature that clawed out of her body with teeth and talons. In the dark, her hands untangle from the furs and push at the scaly nose nudging her. It's probably Cloudjumper, she thinks, or the Rumbleroar eternally starved for affection.

But she recognizes the metallic warble in her ear, and her fingers brush over a leather belt. Astrid sits straight up and gasps.

"Toothless!" she breathes, and the Night Fury licks her hands in response. She pets his neck, scratches his jaw fins, presses kisses to his forehead. "I've missed you!" Until she said it, she didn't realize just how true it was. Her heart races with excitement, even if her brain still struggles to shake off the cobwebs of sleep.

And where Toothless goes…

Astrid kicks off the furs with almost too much zeal. She nearly trips out of the little alcove of a bed. Matching her enthusiasm, the dragon bows and pounces and runs circles around her, rubbing his face into her chest and back. She's half distracted by his affections, half trying to navigate the tunnels in the dark.

He's here. He's back. Despite herself, nervousness thrums through her veins, making her breaths quick and her steps quicker.

She hears Hiccup before she sees him, talking with his mother in tones that echo abstractly off of cavern walls. It's such a familiar, comforting sound that she slows and exhales happily. Her teeth gnaw at a smile trying to bloom on her lips. Until she detects an edge of sharpness in their discussion, pulling up short.

Toothless bounds past her, talons scratching on the stone floor, and she hears his rider shooing him away, ignoring his excitement. He's distracted, almost arguing with his mother.

"If it's such an emergency, why can't we talk about it now?" he asks, and Astrid apprehensively tiptoes forward until the mouth of the tunnel widens and she can see him standing in the center of the room.

Her chest gives a squeeze at the sight of him. He has his arms spread, a gesture of frustration, and he's watching Valka as she pulls a fur from her own bed, back turned. Toothless tries to get both of their attentions, to gesture towards Astrid with a gummy grin, but neither rider will give him a glance. Finally, exasperated, he allows his focus to be caught by something outside and races out the window.

"It's a conversation Astrid should be a part of," she replies patiently, facing him and folding the fur over her forearms. "Why? Were you hoping to be gone again before she wakes?"

"No," he answers, arms dropping. But the word hangs between them, suspended by insincerity. Her mouth drops from a faint smile of tentative hope to disappointed disbelief.

"Just wait until morning," Valka urges her son gently. "It's important."

Hiccup's chest rises and falls with a sigh Astrid can't hear from where she stands pressed into the curve of the wall. From this angle, she can peek to see them, but they can't see her. Raking his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head and shrugs. "Fine. Is she in my bed?" He takes a step towards her– towards the tunnels– and she shuffles backwards.

"Her bed," Valka corrects, and he rolls his eyes but continues crossing the room. "Hiccup?"

He pauses, looking over his shoulder at her.

She holds the fur out toward him. "Don't bother her. Sleep in here or out with the dragons."

Brow furrowing with indignation, he turns and rests one hand on his hip. "I can't sleep in the same bed as my wife?"

"She's only your wife in name," she retorts coolly. There's a sudden glint in her grey-green eyes. "You'll alarm the girl, crawling into her bed like a lover." As if he hasn't already done so scores of times before. It sounds innocent enough to Astrid's ears, but she hears it for what it is– a challenge.

Hiccup hesitates, and then mutters, "She's not that skittish." He starts to ignore the fur extended towards him and walk away, but his mother's clipped tone stops him in his tracks.

"When did you start lying to me?"

Valka clenches her jaw, setting the blanket down with more force than necessary. She cups her elbows, holding her arms close to her body as if she's shielding herself. There's a new hardness to her features.

His mother can't see the way his lips part in surprise, or the crinkle that appears in his brow, but Astrid can. His fingers flutter and flex, an anxious tell she knows as well as her own. "She told you?"

"Told me what?" She lifts her chin, another dare.

His eyes fall shut as he searches the inside of his cheek with his tongue, resigned. "About our… relationship."

Valka's voice is like ice. "Very little. I was hoping you could provide a bit more detail."

Hiccup wets his lips and lifts his hands before letting them drop back to his sides. "It… just happened, okay? I thought maybe you wouldn't let her stay if you knew–"

"You mean, I wouldn't let you leave?" she interrupts, teeth bared like one of her fearsome dragons. In the few weeks Astrid's known her, Valka has often seemed strong and firm, but never as fierce as she does now. "Tell me the truth, Hiccup. How did it just happen? Did you tell her to make good on her wifely duties? Did you tell her it was your bed or the streets? Or did you get drunk one night and force–"

"Is that what she said?" Astrid's about to step in, to tell her she's got it wrong, but Hiccup beats her to it. "That's what you think I'm capable of?"

"I'm not sure what to think," Valka hisses. "I thought you were protecting her from Berk. I thought she had feelings you couldn't reciprocate. I didn't think you were taking advantage of a young woman in a bad position."

"It wasn't like that!" He paces across the room so he can look his mother in the eye. "Astrid was very much consenting, every step of the way. I didn't– I wouldn't! It was… companionship, that was all!"

His words feel like a rain of arrows finding ground in her throat. She's not sure whether she should feel more ashamed by how easily she crawled into his bed or more angered that she saw it for more than what it was.

"Companionship." Speaking softly, Valka practically scoffs at the idea. She rubs her face with her hands and steps around him so she can sit by the low-burning fire. "All the years I've been your mother, I've never been disappointed in you."

"Why are you getting so involved?" he demands. "What happened to 'it's your life' and 'it's none of my business'?"

"You went too far this time, Hiccup!" She makes a sharp cutting motion with the flat of her palm. "She's not one of your dalliances. You claimed her as your wife in front of her people, took her in a marriage bed, and then left. There are different standards you're held to as a husband."

He growls with frustration, shoving his hands in his hair. "I didn't ask for this!"

"Neither did she."

Her voice is low and chilled, and Astrid presses a hand to her middle to control her unsteady breathing. It slides lower, trembling against her belly. She swallows hard and prays they won't catch her spying.

Valka tries to keep her voice level as she looks into the fire and says, "The running stops now." She shakes her head. "The drinking, the disappearing– there's too much at risk now."

"Like what?" he whispers, angry. "A girl from Berk? I can't even trust her, Mom. You want to talk about running? Ask her what she did."

Part of Astrid wants to scream, to explain that she came back, that she can't be blamed. But guilt also pangs in her gut, telling her she's been proven right. It was her mistake that drove him away. Her fault that he gave her away like he did.

"It doesn't matter anymore. You'll understand later." His mother smooths back the grey frizz at one temple, looking suddenly older and weary. "You can sleep in my bed. I'm awake now anyways."

Hiccup looks at the pile of furs, then glares at his feet. "Why'd you call me back here? Is this the big emergency?"

Valka lifts her gaze, incensed. "It's a part of it."

Gesturing broadly, he stares distantly above her head. "Let's get it all out in the open, then. It'll be like the good old days on Berk with Dad! I'll pull up a chair. We'll have a drink and talk about what a disappointment and a failure I am!"

That makes her raise her voice, jabbing a finger at her son. The volume clattering off of the cave walls makes Astrid jump. Valka's not one to yell. "Don't make this about your father! This is about the choices you're making, the choices you will make! It's time for you to put this life behind you and take responsibility for the woman you married!"

"She doesn't want to be married to me!" he exclaims just as loudly. "Why do you think I left? Why should I stay when she won't?"

"Because you made her your wife! And the mother of your child!"

Astrid's heart stops. All the air rushes out of her lungs, and the blood in her veins runs cold. Her legs are suddenly weak. The room crackles with tension. She exhales a shaking whimper, covering her mouth so she doesn't give herself away.

Hiccup looks as if he's been stabbed, eyes wide and shoulders heaving. He stares at his mother as he quietly processes her words. Neither speaks for a long time, until he weakly croaks, "Child?"

Her heart hammers frantically in her chest, a panicked pounding in her ears. Her fingers knot in the front of her tunic.

Valka sighs, glancing away. "She's carrying your babe."

He takes a step back, as if from a blow. His lips move silently, trying to put sound to words he can't quite form. Swallowing audibly, he tugs at the neck of his quilted leather vest. "She didn't… I thought…"

"You didn't think," Valka cuts in, quiet but stern. "You left, knowing she might leave this place and disappear forever. You abandoned her, knowing she might have conceived!"

"I didn't!" he blurted. "I didn't know. I thought– Ingrid always takes medicine, a tea or something."

That name sends a sharp shard deep into her ribs, confirming what she's suspected all along. He never denied it or confessed to it, so she could almost pretend it was all in her head, but this makes it painfully true.

"You've been with another woman?" Valka accuses.

"No! She's– Not since Astrid." His answer is only a small, insignificant kind of relief. "But she always told me not to worry about it, that she'd take care of it. She drinks something."

"Moon tea isn't foolproof, Hiccup." Valka sounds drained and irritable. "And it's not for virgin girls in their husband's bed. It's for women who know they're not spoken for. And did you forget? You kept her prisoner, away from her village, her mother, a healer… Who did you expect her to turn to for that knowledge?"

"I don't know!" he shouts, a burst of distress. "I didn't– I don't know."

At the sound of his rider's tone, Toothless comes running back inside. When he sees the shock and dismay in Hiccup's face, he bows his head and steps forward, warbling with concern.

"She's thinking of going back to Berk," Valka begins, a little calmer. "You have to assure her she won't be alone. That you'll take care of them."

Them. Astrid clenches her jaw and tries to breathe through her nostrils. For the first time, she doesn't feel separate from the life inside her. Not like a hen carrying an egg. It's her and her baby, and soon they'll be a pair. And Hiccup– he's here, he's real. He's handling the news about as well as she did, but once it sinks in, they could all become something almost whole. A family.

Please, she prays, shutting her eyes for just a moment. I can't do this without you. If he can forgive her, she'll forgive him. All the things they've said to each other, the grudges they've held. She's willing to put it all behind her for a chance at a home. Like what they had in the mountain nest.

The sound of footsteps makes her blink. When she looks again, Hiccup has his back to the room, one palm pressed to his forehead. "I have to go."

All at once, the floor seems to fall out from under her feet. A pain sharper than a blade slices her through, and she reaches for the wall to steady herself. She swallows hard, fingers grasping at rough, damp rock.

Valka's eyes widen. She stands. "Hiccup. No."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, moving quickly to Toothless' side. He ignores the Night Fury's confusion and worried whines, detaching his helmet from the saddle with fumbling hands. "I can't stay here."

"Hiccup!" His mother rushes to his side, tries to wedge herself between him and his dragon. "You can't keep running!"

"What, like you haven't been running for twenty years?" It doesn't seem possible that the rough, insulting words were spoken by him, but Astrid's heard them with her own ears. He doesn't even look at Valka as he says it, reaching around her to ready the tailfin rig. "You left your kid."

"And I've regretted it," the woman pleads, trying to grab his shirt despite how he shakes her off. A conflict Astrid's never seen before is exploding in front of her. "Ever since, I wish I'd stayed to watch you grow up. Don't make the same mistake I did!"

Hiccup doesn't answer. He pulls his elbow away from her, throws his leg over Toothless' back.

"Hiccup," Valka presses, reaching for one of the straps to his saddle to hold him in place. "Hiccup, don't."

"Let him."

It doesn't quite sink in that she's said the words aloud until mother and son are lifting their heads to look at her. Astrid folds her arms in front of her, stepping out of the mouth of the tunnel and narrowing her gaze.

"If he wants to go, knowing what he knows," That I'm pregnant, that I'm leaving, that I love him. "just let him." She shrugs, voice shockingly calm and hard for all the thunder and wind shaking through her.

"Astrid," Valka sighs, closing her eyes as she realizes everything said has been overheard.

Hiccup doesn't move. Frozen, he stares with his helmet half lifted to his face. For a second, they stare, and for the first time in weeks, she feels his green gaze on her.

She won't let him break her with his sad story anymore. Not if he becomes the villain in hers.

"Well?" she breathes.

Like he's been shaken from a daze, he blinks and then glares at the floor. Valka starts to say something, but he doesn't listen. He tucks his head into his helmet and slides his foot into the rig's pedal. His dragon barks at him, then looks at Astrid and whines.

"Let's go, Toothless," he mutters, muffled by his face shield.

His mother tries to shout his name one more time before the Night Fury is spreading his wings and melting into the shadows.

* * *

She's always been afraid of heights. Not the way children were afraid of dragons or anything, but it made her uneasy. Made her legs tremble. It hasn't been so bad since she learned to fly, but she suspects she'll always be a little put off by being high above the ground.

Astrid holds her arms out to each side as she approaches the edge of the grassy overpass, breathing deeply and keeping her eyes ahead instead of on the terrifying drop. The waterfall crashes noisily around her, drops of water spraying close enough to feel. Wetting her lips, she purses them together and poorly imitates a hatchling's whistle for attention.

It takes a couple times for her to find a volume loud enough to be heard over the rushing water, but then she hears a deep rumble that seems to shake the entire island. Her heart catches, her arms rising unsteadily.

As if she's watching an island sink in reverse, the vast creature of snow and ice stirs below. Other dragons turn to watch, some flying away to give him room to stand as he emerges from the water. It rushes between his spines, trickles in rivers down his fins, and pours to either side of him in gushes. A couple of the hatchlings that had been playing on his tusks scatter and chirp.

Astrid swallows hard, determined to stand her ground. Seeing the Bewildebeast raise his face to the overpass feels as if she's shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller, more and more insignificant. Panic flutters in her breast, her shoulders rising and falling with nervous breaths. She clenches her jaw and stares ahead and hopes her expression doesn't translate as hostile to the creature that could send her to her death with a twitch of his fins.

His eyes are massive, likely the height of her torso. A frigid blue and frighteningly narrow, they peer at her like one might inspect a butterfly at the window. She can make out individual scales, some the span of her shoulders and larger. They must be harder than flint.

Finally at his full height, he settles, and Astrid feels like a peasant standing before a king in his throne. Every cold breath he exhales sounds like a breeze rustling the foliage below. She carefully lowers her arms, balling them in her skirt, and bends as far as she dares at the waist.

"Thank you," she whispers, having to clear her throat to gain a little volume. "For letting me stay here in your home."

The Bewildebeast rumbles but doesn't move.

Astrid wets her lips, and then continues. "If it's okay, I'd like to stay a little while longer. Just until… until my baby arrives." Her hand finds the nearly imperceptible curve of her belly, as is becoming habit these last few days. "I promise I won't be any trouble to you or your dragons."

A beat of silence passes between them. It's hard to tell, but she thinks his eyes might shift just to her feet and back up. He leans in, making her pulse sprint in panic, but only his nostrils twitch as he deeply inhales her scent. She can almost feel the air pulling around her. When he sighs, those fathomless blue orbs seem to round out just barely. His head tilts upwards, and he exhales a short puff of chilly mist her way. It crystallizes in the whisps of her bangs and the folds of her tunic.

Astrid remembers the way Hiccup stepped to the very edge and stretched out his arms wide. Trying not to shiver, both from the fear and the cold, she shuffles a few inches forward and reaches out a trembling hand.

The Bewildebeast can't come as near as she'd hoped, held back by the length and size of his tusks, but he stretches his neck forward. She extends her arm in turn, and her fingertips brush over a spine protruding from his cheek. The scales are cold and– like she expected– rough as granite.

"I'm going to become like you," she murmurs, looking into one great eye. Fearsome and indomitable.

Like ice.


	17. Hiccup XVI

**XVI.**

The sound of his jagged breaths is loud within the confines of his helmet, heavy panting steaming against the face mask and making it too humid to breathe. So he gasps and swallows even larger gulps of air, perpetuating what he realizes is a vicious circle of hyperventilation. He should take off the helmet, or at least lift the face piece, but every muscle in his body has gone stiff. If he even takes his eyes off the black horizon, he might send him and Toothless spinning.

Hiccup's hands are welded in a tight grip around his saddle's handlebars. His arms shake, though, feeling entirely too weak and numb. In his ears, his pulse roars, and the echo of it in his chest is a painful, bruising slam. Each heartbeat feels like a punch to the ribs. The overwhelming attack of sensation is a familiar kind of panic, the knowledge that he's done something wrong. Again.

He can't breathe. The thin air isn't enough. So he screams.

* * *

Bulg is quieter than usual. Hiccup takes a swig from his flask as he strolls through the dark paths of the little village, observing the structural damage of a house here, a fence there. There are scorch marks, some forever scarred into doorways and some that look like somebody's tried to scrub them off of stone. He should feel a little guilt, he thinks, but he's had enough to drink that he's already past that.

Toothless didn't want to come here. After making their first stop, he grew more and more unhappy about their journey south. He tried turning them around, nipping at Hiccup's foot in the pedal, grumbling his distaste. But the further they fly from the icy north, the clearer the rider's head becomes.

He doesn't need to be sober to find his way through the maze of similar houses, lined up like pastries on a baker's tray. He knows the alleys by memory, accustomed to searching in even the drunkest, haziest daze. There's even a little comfort in the familiarity of this walk, a strange sense of relaxing normalcy that soothes his jittery nerves.

Locating the right window with ease, he leans against the exterior wall of the house and caps his flask. With one hand, he tucks the flask into his vest, and with the other, he scratches at the slatted shutters. The following beat of silence is filled with an anxiety he's trying to numb. Hiccup waits, listening for noise inside, and then he raps his knuckles against the window.

There's a shuffling on the other side of the wall– a brief sound at first, and then followed by a series of rustlings and clatters. The latch is unlocked from the inside, and the shutters are suddenly pushed open so wide that they nearly hit him.

Ingrid shoves her head out the window, eyes wide and searching in the moonlight. They fall on him, and her brows climb high. "Horrendous!"

One corner of his mouth lifts, attempting a grin but not quite achieving sincerity. "Don't wake your mother," he whispers back. "Come let me in the back door."

With a breathless smile, she retreats and locks the window shut once more. He pushes away from the wall– ignoring the tipsy twirl of his off-kilter balance– and uses his hand to trace the corner of the small house in the dark. By the time he approaches the back entrance, the door is already opening. Ingrid peeks out to check for any witnesses before letting him inside.

She's wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and it envelops him when he steps forward to accept her open arms. She smells like florals and clean laundry, and her hair is smooth and loose against his cheek.

"Hey," she breathes, warmth in her voice. Pulling back but not away, she straightens his sweaty bangs with her fingers. "We were hoping you'd show up soon. I'm glad you're safe."

"I'm fine," he replies, giving her arms a short squeeze. A thread of panic attempts to climb up his throat, to scream that it's a lie, but he swallows it down and tastes the burn of alcohol on his tongue.

Ingrid steps away, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders and starting towards the kitchen. "I'll start some water for tea," she murmurs. "You know where the blankets are, you can set some up by the fire."

Before she can get too far, he reaches for her elbow, pulling her short. She blinks back, confused, until she sees the hard set of his jaw. He tugs a little, trying to bring her closer. "I didn't come for a place to crash."

Sighing, she shakes her head just a little but can't seem to look away. "Ren…"

He slides his hand down her arm until he can lace his fingers with hers. They're warm and soft and familiar, slender and feminine. When he tries pulling her closer this time, she gives into the tug. Eyes the color of wheat in the noon-day sun search his face, full lips parting just slightly.

Usually when he dips his head to kiss her, she meets him halfway. This time she only barely tilts her chin upwards to meet his mouth. The melding of their lips is both easy and strangely different. He knows the taste of her well, has her body memorized by touch, but there's a new hint of unfamiliar strangeness between them. Something just slight enough to be ignored.

Slowly, she melts in his arms. Exhaling a quiet whimper, she settles against him so that their chests meet with every breath. His hands slide around to her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. His pulse quickens, body heating. She finds his sides and holds onto the belt around his waist.

Something about Ingrid has always made it very easy for him to forget. Maybe it's the fact that he's usually drunk when he stumbles into her room, or maybe it's just the semi-magical effect of a beautiful woman. Nonetheless, when she shyly allows his tongue to trace the tip of hers, the past and his problems drip away like rain left on a doorstep. It's certainly not always like that. In fact, he's used to being torn open by memories lately, to feel the knife of clarity whenever he's with–

That unraveling ball of thought is snipped short by a pained gasp for air. Hiccup screws his eyes shut, lifts a hand to knot in Ingrid's hair and hold her face firmly to his. Her whispered moan should banish his distractions the way it always does, but it plays like a chord strummed from badly tuned strings. Hiccup twists and pushes her forward so he can press her into the wall.

"Ren," she breathes, palms sliding up his chest. He kisses a sloppy trail down her throat, pushing back her hair to reach her exposed collarbone. Her body arches against him, and for a brief moment, he feels it– that pride, the feeling of doing something right. He closes his mouth over that spot, sucking until she begins to squirm and scratch at his clothes.

"Oh– Ren," she groans again, and he's encouraged by the sound. Ren is capable and controlled and uncageable. Ren protects and pleases. He blindly scrapes a hand up the curve of her waist, gropes at the soft swell of her breast for a moment before reaching for the laces of her gown. His fingers are a little clumsy in his inebriation, but they tug the knot free after a couple of tries. "Ren. Horrendous, stop."

That word hits him, bringing his attention to focus the way a hammer to the thumb startles him in the forge. Her command isn't sharp or frightened, but firm. He pulls back with alarm.

"What? What is it?" He swallows, trying to catch his breath.

Examining her face in the dark, she looks like the definition of sin. Dark hair tumbling around her flushed cheeks, lips swollen and panting. She's dropped her blanket, and her nightgown hangs off one shoulder, wide neckline nearly exposing her.

"We can't," she tells him, even with desire still coloring her voice. Her hands rest on his biceps, gently holding him back. "Not anymore."

He doesn't mean for a frustrated swear to slip free, but it does. Cupping his fingers around the back of her neck, he leans down to meet her gaze. "You know it's not like that," he tells her, keeping his volume at a whisper. "I didn't get married because I wanted to."

"I know." Ingrid wets her lips. "I know you didn't get a say in it. I know it was your parents, that you and Astrid aren't sweethearts or anything. But it doesn't feel right, Horrendous. It's not fair to her or me."

This isn't the time for morality to find a foothold in their less-than-proper relationship. He resists the urge to grit his teeth. "What if I told you I left her?" Even as he says them, the words taste awful. They sound much harsher in the air than they did in his head.

His lover's eyes widen. He can almost make out a ring of light surrounding her pupils. "Did you?"

"Mm." It's not really a confirmation. He doesn't want to nod. But he guesses that's what he did, in the end.

"Horrendous!" her hands drop. The incredulity in her tone doesn't sound happy. "You left your wife? Why?"

Hiccup takes a step back. Why is she questioning him? Why is she like this? Never before has she taken such an interest in his personal affairs, content to wait for his next visit and be his distraction for a night.

"It wasn't working," he answers, a little perturbed. "I can't trust her. She doesn't like me."

Ingrid folds her arms in front of her chest, glancing at the floor before looking back up at him. She moves so that her back isn't pressed into the wall. "It seems to me like she's the one who shouldn't trust you." Crossing the space between them, she reaches for his hand, but he pulls it away reflexively. "I care about you, Ren, I do. But this doesn't just concern us anymore– you have someone you need to take care of. Somebody depending on you."

That shouldn't cut so deep. This familiar place shouldn't feel like it's shrinking, like the walls are closing in on him. It's been a safe haven for the past three years, a comfortable space he can turn to after a hard drink or a harder night. Not anymore. Even this place is different now.

"She doesn't need me," he mutters, already taking a step backwards, towards the door. He hears his mother's voice– you can't keep running!– and shakes his head as if to shake it off. "She practically told me to go."

"Did she?" Ingrid lifts one brow. She doesn't look any less beautiful, but somehow less appealing.

He scoffs. "She didn't try to stop me."

"Should she have to?"

The crawling dread he'd choked down earlier is finding its way back up. Hiccup rakes his fingers through his hair, glaring at her in betrayal. She's supposed to be his ally, not more opposition. Not another reminder of everything he wants to forget. Was she always like this? Good? Maybe he was always too distracted to notice.

Her frown is disappointed, the crease in her brow deep. She stares at the floor, not even granting him eye contact. "Don't come to me anymore, Horrendous. Go back to your wife."

He's turning on his heel and storming outside before the guilt has a chance to catch up with him.

* * *

He's not sure how, but somehow he finds himself banging on a door in the black hours of night. It's just a few hours before sunrise– or maybe a few after sunset. All the details are a blurred fog, lost to the dizziness.

"Fiske!" He shouts, slamming his fist against the door. His forehead hits the wood, and he tries to dig his nails in to hold himself straight when the ground suddenly tilts. "Fiske, open up, dammit!" In the distance, someone yells out their window for him to be quiet, but he only knocks louder. "I need a drink!"

Hiccup groans when there's no response, giving the door a kick. "Fiske!"

It suddenly swings open, and he falls forward with a blurted yelp. Large hands grab his arms, shake him aright. There's angry words in his ear that he can't quite make out, but he can see past Fiske's shoulder and see a scowling woman lingering by the back room.

"That's your wife?" he slurs, pointing to the woman in her nightgown. "You said she was ugly."

Fiske makes a noise of recognition, pulling him straight and shoving him against the doorway. He searches the younger man's face, expression shocked. "Horrendous?"

Hiccup puts a hand on the barkeep's chest. "I need a drink."

Fiske curls his upper lip and leans back. "Smells like you've had a few." He turns to his wife, dragging him inside but keeping a strong grip on his upper arm. "Go back to bed. It's Horrendous."

Waving, Hiccup tries to greet the woman, but she keeps her arms crossed disapprovingly and looks him up and down before disappearing into the back.

Fiske helps him stumble towards the hearth, sitting him down in a chair by the almost-dead fire. His body feels heavy, and his arms fall to the sides as he slouches in the seat. "I need something strong," he mumbles, head rolling to the side. "I am way too lucid right now."

"There was a raid," the other man says in a low voice. He moves around behind the bar for a few seconds, and Hiccup hears the sound of liquid pouring. "Nobody's seen you. We thought you'd gotten yourself killed."

"I had some… family matters to attend to." Snorting, he shakes his head, but that makes the room spin. When Fiske sets down the mug on the table, it takes Hiccup a few tries before he can grab the handle. Bringing it to his mouth, his drink spills over the side and dribbles down his shirt. He takes one sip and spits it out. "This is water, you asshole!"

"I know. Drink it." Fiske refuses the mug that he tries to press back into his hands, holding Hiccup by the wrist to keep it in his grip. He'd never thought of Fiske as a particularly intimidating guy, but damn, he's strong. There's muscle beneath his bear-like frame. "Drink the water and I'll give you something else."

"I don't want it!" He tries to pull his arm back while pushing the drink away. It splashes onto his lap and chest. "I need alcohol! I really don't feel like remembering everything!"

"Water first. Then we'll talk." His tone is firm, adamant. Just like Ingrid, talking to him like he's the unreasonable one for expecting ale from a barkeep or affection from a lover. They're the ones acting out of character, not him. How is it that he can see that, even while drunk, but they can't?

"I'm not drinking it!" He snarls, kicking out and making contact with the burly man's knee.

"Fine." Fiske hisses, tossing the mug full of water in his face. "Then wear it."

Hiccup coughs and splutters, using his shoulder to wipe his cheek. He cusses. His cold shirt instantly sticks to his skin, making him squirm uncomfortably. Fiske crosses the room and gently shuts the back door that leads to the second floor.

"I just need a drink," Hiccup groans, pulling at his dripping clothes. Trying to sit up proves to be a bad idea– he loses his balance and falls out of his chair, on his hands and knees in front of the hearth. He fumbles at his pocket for a second before procuring his empty flask. "I need… before it wears off…"

Fiske comes to stand over him, smacking the flask out of his hand. "I'm used to dealing with drunks, but if you wake my kids, Horrendous, you're on the street."

His kids. What a good father. Like a second lightning bolt choosing him from the sky, pain tears through his chest. His face crumples, and Hiccup throws his palms to his eyes to disguise it. "Too late…" He tries to laugh, but it comes out too rough. "Fuck."

Fiske's shadow looms over him, and then he's kneeling. "What's going on, Horrendous? Talk to me."

"I fucked up," he breathes, voice cracking. Fissures of regret split through him. "I fucked up."

"Horrendous, what happened? What's going on? Horrendous? Horrendous–"

"That's not my name!" he suddenly growls, reaching out a hand to shove him away, but his aim fails. Fiske grabs his shoulders, holding him still, even as he shouts, "It's not my name! Don't call me that!"

"Okay, okay, okay!" The older man gives him a hard shake to calm him. It helps a little bit. "What's your name? What's your name?"

He fights the heavy tilt of gravity to lift his head and meet the barkeep's eyes. "…'s Hiccup."

"Hiccup?"

A harsh chuckle escapes. "I know, right? Perfect for me." He winces. "The hiccup. The useless runt! The fuck-up."

Fiske grabs his face by the chin, holds it so he can't look away. It actually hurts a little, but his tongue is too numb to tell him so. "What's going on, Hiccup? What'd you fuck up?"

And because he can't help it, he cries. Hot tears spill over his cheeks, mixing strangely with the chilled water drenching his hair and clothes. "Astrid," he chokes out, because if he says too much more, his quiet tears will become pathetic sobs. "Astrid. I fucked up."

His tone instantly sharpens with concern. "Astrid– your wife? What'd you do, Hiccup? Did you hit her? Was it a dragon? Where is she?"

He shakes his head, despite the nauseating way it makes his stomach turn. "She's pregnant," he gasps. "I got her pregnant."

As if in relief, Fiske slumps to the floor, releasing him. For a moment, he's quiet. Exhaling slowly, he rubs his face with his palms and then reaches over. He gives Hiccup's knee a pat. "It's okay. You're okay."

"I got her pregnant," he whispers again, almost to himself. Shoving his hands through his hair, he knots his fingers so tightly it almost hurts. Things weren't supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be able to leave her behind, and the pain, and Berk with it. Let it all burn.

The older Viking takes his shoulder, squeezes it tight. He shifts so he can duck his head to try and catch Hiccup's gaze. Just that feels too heavy, like Fiske might see him for the disgusting bastard he is, so he turns his head away. "You didn't fuck up, Hiccup." Fiske's voice is low and gravelly. "You didn't fuck up. That's what husbands do. They put babes in their wives."

Biting his lip so he won't cough on anymore embarrassing tears, he shakes his head. "I can't be a father. I can't– I'm not that kind of man." His hands find the barkeep's shirt and turn to fists in the fabric. "I ruined everything. I wanted her so I took her, and now– now…" He can't even finish his sentence. He just sees the hard set of Astrid's gaze when she told his mother, let him. "I disappointed my own dad. He's an ass. And now I'm the exact same kind of shitty parent. I can't– I can't be what she needs."

For a second, all he can do is sob and hate himself. Fiske's arms jerk him upwards, wrap around his shoulders and squeeze him close. He's not quite the size of Stoick the Vast, but he's a big man, and it makes him think of childhood tears. He misses his dad, damn him. For all the chief of Berk has become, as cruel and awful as it was of him to throw Astrid to the mercy of the Dragon Master– he's still his father. There's something to be said for the comfort of a familiar embrace.

"Just take some breaths, okay?" Large hands pat at his back. "This is just the alcohol. It'll pass."

"It's not." Hiccup pushes away, swipes his forearm across his wet face. "This is me. Cowardly and disloyal and perpetually intoxicated." It's all coming out now, his dirty truths. "I can't do anything right. Can't protect anyone. I told a secret that ended dozens of innocent lives. I got my own cousin killed. I left a whole village of people to be slaughtered, and my own village to starve and die." Even now, though, he can't bear to confess the worst of it– that he left his pretend wife the minute he found out she was carrying his child.

He grits his teeth against another onslaught of tears. "How– how does that kind of person become a good husband? A good father? Someone that selfish, that… weak?"

Fiske doesn't argue with him, doesn't try to justify anything he's just admitted. Staring intently, he holds Hiccup's head between his hands. "You can only try." His low voice is even. It reminds him of the night Snotlout died, when Astrid put her palms on either side of his face and told him it would be okay. "You just try."

Hiccup swallows thickly. "What if I screw up? What if she hates me?" There was a glint in her eyes that night. A challenge. A fear. He proved that fear right. And he knows her well enough not to expect her easy forgiveness. If he can even earn it at all.

"You try again," he answers promptly and calmly. "And you love her anyways."

"I never said I loved her." Watery eyes cut aside, fixing Fiske in a weak glare.

"You didn't have to."

* * *

Waking is weird. It's not a sound that rouses him, not a bright light or a touch. Just the odd sensation of being watched. Of having someone's eyes on him. Blinking through the knives of morning stabbing through his lashes, he squints up from the hard floor and groans at the headache it disturbs.

Standing above him are two children, both younger than ten and watching him silently. He freezes, alarmed, but then he recognizes his surroundings. They almost look different in the light of day. He doesn't remember the walk to the bar, but a few flashing memories definitely place him there before passing out.

"You Fiske's kids?" he mumbles, his voice scraping through a throat that feels like Nightmare scales. There's an awful taste on his tongue and a ringing in his ears.

The older of the two, a girl with two pigtail braids, puts her hands on her knees and examines him with scrutiny. "We're s'posed to let Mama know when you're awake."

Hiccup looks at her, waiting for her to run off to her mother. When she doesn't, he shifts his gaze to the boy a couple years younger than her at her side. He chews on one finger and watches with wide, dazed eyes. Disturbing. His glance slips back to the girl. "Well? Are you going to go tell her?"

"Yeah, I guess," she answers, as if she's inconvenienced by this duty. Straightening, she continues to stare. "Are you one of Papa's friends?"

He shrugs in near bafflement, rubbing his fingertips into one eye. "Yeah, I guess."

She points behind him, to the hearth. "How come you're sleeping there?"

Pushing up onto his elbow, he examines his positioning. He's sprawled on the hard floor with the stone at his back, long legs tangled around the legs of a chair. He doesn't remember removing his vest either, but it's folded like a pillow where his head had been lying. It's not the most uncomfortable place he's ended up after drinking. Definitely not the weirdest.

"My bed was taken," he half replies.

This seems to satisfy her curiosity well enough. With a shrug, she turns and starts towards the cracked back door. The girl tugs on her brother's arm when she realizes he's not following and drags him along.

Hiccup sits up with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning against his knees. His stomach roils, and his tongue scrapes over fuzzy-feeling teeth. Swallowing hard, he slowly pushes to his feet and ambles to the front door. His eyes sting. His head feels like it's being crushed beneath a Gronkle's foot.

After relieving himself outside, he rights his clothing and reluctantly ducks back inside. He straightens a few chairs, nudges his usual table back into alignment. His flask is sitting on the corner of the hearth. He pulls his vest on and tucks the empty flask inside.

The back door creaks open, and the little girl from before pokes her head out. "Mama wants you," she informs him, pushing the door wide before running behind the stairs to the kitchen in the far back. He can hear pittering footsteps and the sound of rustling.

He's never spoken to Fiske's wife. The glimpse he caught of her in the doorway is the closest they've ever gotten to meeting, and she'd looked sorely annoyed that he'd roused her from her sleep. He's not really sure what to expect. Still, he did disturb their night and sleep on their floor, so he grudgingly crosses behind the long bar and follows the barkeep's daughter to the family's living spaces.

In the kitchen, he sees both children sitting at a small table, eating bite-sized pieces of ham straight from the tabletop, no plate or utensils in sight. The boy is still and quiet, but the little girl watches him enter and swings her feet.

At the island, Fiske's wife scowls down at the strange root she's slicing. She's tall and slender-built, but with a softness around her arms, belly, and face. Light brown hair is pulled into tight braids, making her look cold and severe. Pretty, in a way, but a little harsh. Much like the night before, she wears an expression of distaste, making Hiccup wonder if that's just the natural setting of her face.

He still remembers Fiske's answer when he'd been asked if his wife was nice– "Meaner than a cat in heat." It's a little unnerving.

She points her knife over the cutting board but doesn't look up when he awkwardly steps inside. "Drink that," she says of the mug across from her.

Hiccup hesitates. Then, realizing the kids are watching and waiting, he clears his throat and obeys. The mug is full to the brim with something creamy-looking and unappetizing. From the sour smell of it, he's not sure he wants to take even a sip. There's not much of a choice, though, so he chugs it down as quickly as possible and tries not to gag too noticeably. Luckily, he's gotten plenty of practice with his mother.

"What is that?" he rasps, hoping the question doesn't sound too disgusted. He looks into the mug. There's clumps of something sticking to the bottom.

"For hangovers," she answered, still focused on the task at hand. The root in her hand looks like some sort of distorted tuber– white-ish and fat, with gnarled limbs sprouting from either side. She's got her eyes fixed on it as she cuts it into thin disks. "Fiske fixed it before going to bed."

He's not sure what to do with the empty mug in his hand, so he slowly sets it back down in front of him. Finally, the woman's eyes flick to him.

"Here." She steps back and hands him the knife, handle first. "Do this."

Unsure, he accepts the blade, but he feels uncomfortable and awkward at a cutting board. He's never been one to cook extensively. Usually, shoving a fish on a stick and holding it over a fire is the closest he gets to preparing a meal. Still, he's a little afraid to disobey, so he edges around the island and takes her place. The strange vegetable feels smooth to the touch. It smells pleasant and vaguely familiar.

As he unsteadily begins slicing the way she'd been, Fiske's wife crosses the room, removing a small pot from over the fire. Hiccup observes as she sets it down next to him and begins throwing handfuls of the thin disks into a clear liquid.

"Watch what you're doing," she snaps. He instantly reacts. "If you get blood on my table, you're cleaning it off."

"What are you making?" He's curious, and the strange root is weird enough to make him wonder. They haven't even really been introduced, and yet she's commanding him around her kitchen like a master.

"Candied ginger," she sighs. For a shocking moment, her tone is so strikingly familiar, and he realizes that her daughter answered him in the exact same way. As if simply replying is a nuisance. He's blown away by how such a tiny trait could be passed on.

"Ginger," he echoes, looking down at the cutting board. A slightly exotic spice from the east, supposedly good on pork. He's heard of it before but never seen or tasted it himself.

"It settles the stomach," she tells him, somehow managing to make him feel stupid as she speaks. He wonders if she's always this condescending or if she's making a special effort just for him. "It'll help your wife with her nausea. The sugar will help, too, if she can't make herself eat anything else."

"Nausea?" His hand pauses, fingers rearranging themselves on the handle of the knife. What exactly had he said while drunk?

"It's a good thing." She stirs the ginger into what he realizes is melted sugar with a large wooden spoon. "The sicker the mother, the healthier the babe."

"She's sick?" The thought hadn't occurred to him. He looks at Fiske's wife with wide eyes, and the returning stare she gives him makes him think she's convinced he's an idiot.

"I've never met a pregnant woman who wasn't," she says flatly. "It'll fade in the last few months. Until then, let her eat what she can and what she wants. If she craves something, it's really what the little one wants."

Stunned, Hiccup finds himself gaping. That anxiety starts crawling up the back of his neck, cued by talk of little ones. He tries to tell his heart not to race, wets his dry lips. Fiske's wife is sharing new information, things he wouldn't have even thought to ask. Of course, having born two children, she's probably an expert on the subject. Words are stuck in his throat, the picture of Astrid's tense posture stuck in his mind.

"I set aside some of Wyn and Greta's old things," she goes on. "It's not much, but you can take them with you. There's a maternity tunic, too. I've never met your wife. I don't know if it'll fit." The older woman doesn't look up from her bowl, though she does reach in and take a small piece of ginger for herself. She doesn't seem to notice Hiccup's dropped jaw as she chews distractedly.

He sets down the knife. Lowers his voice so the observant children won't listen in. "Why are you doing this? Telling me all this?"

She stops her stirring and looks up, mouth pursing. She looks him up and down, ending with an even gaze on his face. "You dress a lot like the Phantom."

His heart skips a beat.

"He's been looking after my family for years. Someday, I'd like to repay him by looking after his."


End file.
